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Waste 



BT GRANVILLE BARKER 

THE MADRAS HOUSE 

ANATOL 

THE MARRYING OF ANN LEETE 

THE VOYSEY INHERITANCE 

WASTE 

SOULS ON FIFTH 

In Collaboration ivith Laurence Housman 

PRUNELLA 




ASTE: A PLAY, 
IN FOUR ACTS, BY 
GRANVILLE BARKER 



NON'REFEKTI 




pqwvad ♦ a3s 



BOSTON 
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1916 



^ 
> v^ 









Copyright J igog , 

By Granville Barker. 



All rights reserved 



Published, February, 191 6 



WAS'tE is fully frotected by copyright. It must not be performed 
either by amateurs or professionals without written permission. For 
such permission, and for the ^^acting version''^ -with full stage directions^ 
apply to The Paget Dramatic Agency, 23 West 4Sth Street, New Tori 
City. 



S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U.S.A. 



Ftb 21 1916 



ftv i^ift 



Waste 

190a-7 



i 



WASTE 

At Shapters, george farrant's house in Hertfordshire. 

Ten o'clock on a Sunday evening in summer. 

Facing you at her piano by the window, from which she 
is protected by a little screen, sits mrs. farrant; a 
woman of the_int ere sting age, clear-eyed and all her 
face serene, except for a little pucker of the brows 
which shows a puzded mind upon some important 
matters. To become almost an ideal hostess has been 
her achievement ; and in her own home, as now, this 
grace is written upon every movement. Her eyes 
pass over the head of a girl, sitting in a low chair by 
a little table, with the shaded lamplight falling on her 
fact. This is lucy davenport; twenty-three, unde- 
feated in anything as yet, and so unsoftened. The 
book on her lap is closed, for she has been listening 
to the WMsic. It is possibly some German philoso- 
pher, whom she reads with a critical appreciation of 
his shortcomings. On the sofa near her lounges 
MRS. o'connell; a charming woman, if by charming 
you understand a woman who converts every quality 
she possesses into a means of attraction, and has no 
use for any others. On the sofa opposite sits miss 
trebell. In a few years, when her hair is quite 
grey, she will assume as by right the dignity of an 
old maid. Between these two, in a low armchair, is 
LADY DAVENPORT. She has attained to many digni- 
ties. Mother and grandmother, she has brought into 

I 



2 WASTE [act I 

the world and nourished not merely life but charac- 
ter. A wonderful face she has, full of proud memo- 
ries and fearless of the future. Behind her, on a 
sofa between the windows, is Walter kent. He is 
just what the average English father would like his 
son to be. You can see the light shooting out through 
the windows and mixing with moonshine upon a 
smooth lawn. On your left is a door. There are 
many books in the room, hardly any pictures, a stat- 
uette perhaps. The owner evidently sets beauty of 
form before beauty of colour. It is a woman's room, 
and it has a certain delicate austerity. By the time 
you have observed everything, mrs. farrant has 
played Chopin's prelude opus 28, number 20, from 
beginning to end. 
lady davenport. Thank you, my dear Julia. 
WALTER KENT. \Protesting^ No more? 
MRS. FARRANT. I woii't play for a moment longer than 
I feel musical. 

MISS TREBELL. Do you think it right, Julia, to finish 
with that after an hour's Bach? 

MRS. FARRANT. I Suddenly came over Chopinesque, 
Fanny; . . what's your objection? \^As she sits by her^ 
FRANCES TREBELL. What . . whcn Bach has raised me 
to the heights of unselfishness ! 

AMY o'coNNELL. {Grimacing sweetly, her eyes only half 
lifted.'] Does he? Tm glad that I don't understand him. 
FRANCES TREBELL. [Putting mere prettiness in its place.] 
One may prefer Chopin when one is young. 

AMY o'coNNELL. And is that a reproach or a compli- 
ment? 

WALTER KENT. [Boldly.] I do. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Or a man may . . unless he's a phi- 
losopher. 



ACT i] WASTE 3 

LADY DAVENPORT. [To the rescuc.'] Miss Trebell, you're 
very hard on mere humanity. 

FRANCES TREBELL. [Completing the reproof.'] That's 
my wretched training as a schoolmistress, Lady Daven- 
port . . one grew to fear it above all things. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. [Throwing in the monosyllable with 
sharp, youthful enquiry.] Why? 

FRANCES TREBELL. There Were no text books on the 
subject. 

MRS. FARRANT. [Smiling at her friend.] Yes, Fanny . . 
I think you escaped to look after your brother only just 
in time. 

FRANCES TREBELL. In another year I might have been 
head-mistress, which commits you to approve of the sys- 
tem for ever. 

LADY DAVENPORT. [Shaking her wise head.] I've 
watched the Education fever take England . . . 

FRANCES TREBELL. If I hadn't stoppcd teaching things I 
didn't understand . . ! 

AMY o'coNNELL. [N ot without mischief.] And what 
was the effect on the pupils? 

LUCY DAVENPORT. I cau tell you that. 

AMY o'coNNELL. Franccs never taught you. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. No, I wish slie had. But I was at her 
sort of a school before I went to Newnham. I know. 

FRANCES TREBELL. [Very distastefuUy.] Up-to-date, it 
was described as. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. Well, it was like a merry-go-round 
at top speed. You felt things wouldn't look a bit like that 
when you came to a standstill. 

AMY o'coNNELL. And they don't? 

LUCY DAVENPORT. [With great decision.] Not a bit. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [In her velvet tone.] I was taught 
the whole duty of woman by a parson-uncle who disbe- 
lieved in his Church, 



4 waste; [act I 

WALTER KENT. When a man at Jude's was going to 
take orders ... 

AMY O'CONNEDL. Judc's ? 

WALTER KENT. At Oxford. The dons went very gin- 
gerly with him over bits of science and history. 

\_This wakes a fruitful thought in julia farrant's 
brain.'] 

MRS. farrant. Mamma, have you ever discussed so- 
called anti-Christian science with Lord Charles? 

FRANCES trebell. . . Cautelupc ? 

MRS. FARRANT. Ycs. It was ovcr appointing a teacher 
for the schools down here . . he was staying with us. The 
Vicar's his fervent disciple. However, we were consulted. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. Didn't Lord Charles want you to send 
the boys there till they were ready for Harrow ? 

MRS. FARRANT. YcS. 

FRANCES trebell. Quite the last thing in Toryism ! 

MRS. FARRANT. Mamma made George say we were too 
nouveau riche to risk it. 

LADY DAVENPORT. [As shc laughs.] I couldn't resist that. 

MRS. FARRANT. {^Catching something of her subject's 
dry, driving manner.] Lord Charles takes the superior 
line, and says . . that with his consent the Church may 
teach the unalterable Truth in scientific language or leg- 
endary, whichever is easier understanded of the people. 

LADY DAVENPORT. Is it the prospcct of DiscstabHshment 
suddenly makes him so accommodating? 

FRANCES TREBELL. [With large contempt.] He needn't 
be. The majority of people believe the world was made 
in an English week. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. Oh, nO ! 

FRANCES TREBELL. No Bishop dare deny it. 
MRS. FARRANT. [From the heights of experience.] Dear 
Lucy, do you seriously think that the English spirit — the 



ACT i] WASTE 5 

nerve that runs down the backbone — is disturbed by new 
theology . . or new anything? 

LADY DAVENPORT. ^Enjoying her epigram.'\ What a 
waste of persecution history shows us ! 

WALTER KENT fiow Captures the conversation with a 
very young politician's fervour. 

WALTER KENT. Oncc they're disestablished they must 
make up their minds what they do believe. 

LADY DAVENPORT. I presume Lord Charles thinks it'll 
hand the Church over to him and his . . dare I say 
"Sect"? 

WALTER KENT. Won't it? He knows what he wants. 

MRS. FARRANT. [Subtly.^ There's the election to come 
yet. 

WALTER KENT. But now both parties are pledged to a 
bill of some sort. 

MRS. FARRANT. Political prophecies have a knack of 
not coming true; but, d'you know, Cyril Horsham warned 
me to watch this position developing . . nearly four years 
ago. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Sitting on the opposite bench sharp- 
ens the eyesight. 

WALTER KENT, llronically,'] Has he been pleased with 
the prospect? 

MRS. FARRANT. {With perfect diplomacy.'] If the Church 
must be disestablished . . better done by its friends than 
its enemies. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Still, I don't gather he's pleased with 
his dear cousin Charles's conduct. 

MRS. FARRANT. [Shrugging.] Oh, lately, Lord Charles 
has never concealed his tactics. 

FRANCES TREBELL. And that Speech at Leeds was the 
crowning move, I suppose ; just asking the Nonconformists 
to bring things to a head? 



6 WASTE [act 1 

MRS. FARRANT. [Judicially.] I think that was precipi- 
tate. 

WALTER KENT. ^Giving them lord Charles's oratory,'] 
Gentlemen, in these latter days of Radical opportunism ! — 
You know, I was there . . sitting next to an old gentle- 
man who shouted "Jesuit." 

FRANCES trebell. But supposing Mallaby and the Non- 
conformists hadn't been able to force the Liberals' hand? 

MRS. FARRANT. ^Speaking as of inferior beings.'] Why, 
they were glad of any cry going to the country ! 

FRANCES TREBELL. \_As she considers this.] Yes . . and 
Lord Charles would still have had as good a chance of 
forcing Lord Horsham's. It has been clever tactics. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. \Who has been listening, sharp-eyed.] 
Contrariwise, he wouldn't have liked a Radical Bill, though, 
would he ? 

WALTER KENT. [With aplofub.] He knew he was safe 
from that. The government must have dissolved before 
Christmas, anyway . . and the swing of the pendulum's a 
sure thing. 

MRS. FARRANT. [With her smile.] It's never a sure 
thing. 

WALTER KENT. Oh, Mrs. Farraut, look how unpopular 
the Liberals are. 

FRANCES TREBELL. What made them bring in Res'olu- 
tions? 

WALTER KENT. [Overflowing with knowledge of the sub- 
ject.] I was told Mallaby insisted on their showing they 
meant business. I thought he was being too clever . . and 
it turns out he was. Tommy Luxmore told me there was 
a fearful row in the Cabinet about it. But on their last 
legs, you know, it didn't seem to matter, I suppose. Even 
then, if Prothero had mustered up an ounce of tact . . I 
believe they could have pulled them through . . 

FRANCES TREBELL. Not the Spoliation one. 



ACT i] WASTE 7 

WALTER KENT. Well, Mr. Trebcll dished that! 

FRANCES TREBELL. Henry says his speech didn't turn a 
vote. 

MRS. FARRANT. {With charmifig irony. 1 How disinter- 
ested of him ! 

WALTER KENT. [EfithusiasHc J] That speech did if ever 
a speech did. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Is there any record of a speech that 
ever did? He just carried his own little following with 
him. 

MRS. FARRANT. Eut the crux of the whole matter is, 
and has always been . . whaf s to be done with the 
Church's money. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. {Visualising sovereigns.'] A hundred 
millions or so . . think of it! 

FRANCES TREBELL. There has been from the start a good 
deal of anti-Nonconformist feeling against applying the 
money to secular uses. 

MRS. FARRANT. \_Deprecating false modesty, on any- 
one's behalf.'] Oh, of course the speech turned votes . . 
twenty of them at least. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. [Determined on information.] Then 
I was told Lord Horsham had tried to come to an under- 
standing himself with the Nonconformists about Disestab- 
lishment — oh — a long time ago . . over the Education Bill. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Is that true, Julia? 

MRS. FARRANT. How should I kuOW ? 

FRANCES TREBELL. [With some miscMef.] You might. 

MRS. FARRANT. [Weighing her words.] I don't think it 
would have been altogether wise to make advances. They'd 
have asked more than a Conservative government could 
possibly persuade the Church to give up. 

WALTER KENT. I dou't scc that Horsham's much better 
off now. He only turned the Radicals out on the Spolia- 
tion question by the help of Trebell. And so far . . I 



8 WASTE [act I 

mean till this election is over, Trebell counts still as one of 
them, doesn't he, Miss Trebell ? Oh . . perhaps he doesn't. 
FRANCES TREBELL. He'll tcll you he never has counted 
as one of them. 

MRS. FARRANT. No doubt Lord Charles would sooner 
have done without his help. And that's why I didn't ask 
the gentle Jesuit this week-end, if anyone wants to know. 
WALTER KENT. [Stupefit at this lack of party spirit,'] 
What . . he'd rather have had the Liberals go to the coun- 
try undefeated! 

MRS. FARRANT. [With fiuesse.'] The election may bring 
us back independent of Mr. Trebell and anything he stands 
for. 

WALTER KENT. [Sharply,'] But you asked Lord Hor- 
sham to meet him. 

MRS. FARRANT. [With Still more finesse.] I had my 
reasons. Votes aren't everything. 

LADY DAVENPORT has been listening with rather a 
doubtful smile; she now caps the discussion. 
LADY DAVENPORT. I'm relieved to hear you say so, my 
dear Julia. On the other hand, democracy seems to have 
brought itself to a pretty pass. Here's a measure, which 
the country as a whole neither demands nor approves of, 
will certainly be carried, you tell me, because a minority 
on each side is determined it shall be . . for totally dif- 
ferent reasons. 

MRS. FARRANT. [Shrugging again.] It isn't our business 
to prevent popular government looking foolish. Mamma. 
LADY DAVENPORT. Is that Tory cynicism or feminine? 
At this moment george farrant comes through the 
window; a good-natured man of forty-five. He 
would tell you that he was educated at Eton and 
Oxford. But the knowledge which saves his life 
comes from the thrusting upon him of authority and 
experience ; ranging from the management of an 



ACT i] WASTE 9 

estate which he inherited at twenty-four, through 
the chairmanship of a newspaper syndicate, through 
a successful marriage, to a minor post in the last 
Tory cabinet and the prospect of one in the near- 
coming next. Thanks to his agents, editors, perma- 
nent officials, and his own common sense, he always 
acquits himself creditably. He comes to his wife's 
side and waits for a pause in the conversation. 
LADY DAVENPORT. I remember Mr. Disraeli once said to 

me . . Clever women are as dangerous to the State as 

dynamite. 
FRANCES TREBELL. {Not to be impressed by Disraeli.'] 

Well, Lady Davenport, if men will leave our intellects 

lying loose about . . 

FARRANT. BlackborougVs going, Julia. 

MRS. FARRANT. YeS, GcorgC. 

LADY DAVENPORT. [Concluding her little apologue to 
MISS TREBELL.] Yes, my dear, but power without respon- 
sibility isn't good for the character that wields it, either. 

There follows farrant through the window a man 
of fifty. He has about him that unmistakable air of 
acquired wealth and power which distinguishes many 
Jews, and has therefore come to be regarded as a 
solely Jewish characteristic. He speaks always with 
that swift decision which betokens a narrowed view. 
This is RUSSELL BLACKBOROUGH, manufacturer, poli- 
tician . . statesman, his own side calls him. 
BLACKBOROUGH. \To Ms hostess.li If I start now, they 
tell me, I shall get home before the moon goes down. I'm 
sorry I must get back to-night. It's been a most delightful 
week-end. 

MRS. FARRANT. [Gracefully giving him a good-bye 
hand.] And a successful one, I hope. 

FARRANT. We talked Education for half an hour. 



10 WASTE [act I 

MRS. FARRANT. [Her eyehvows lifting a shade, '\ Edu- 
cation ! 

FARRANT. Thcii Tfebell went away to work. 

BLACKBOROUGH. IVc misscd the music, I fear. 

MRS. FARRANT. But it's been Bach. 

BLACKBOROUGH. No Chopin ? 

MRS. FARRANT. For a minutc only. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Why don't these new Italian men write 
things for the piano? Good-night, Lady Davenport. 

LADY DAVENPORT. [As hc bows over her hand.'] And 
what has Education to do with it? 

BLACKBOROUGH. \_Non-committal himself.'] Perhaps it 
was a subject that compromised nobody. 

LADY DAVENPORT. Do you think my daughter has been 
wasting her time and her tact? 

FARRANT. [Clapping him on the shoulder.] Blackbor- 
ough's frankly flabbergasted at the publicity of this in- 
trigue. 

MRS. FARRANT. lutriguc ! Mr. Trebell walked across 
the House . . actually into your arms. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [With a Certain dubious grimness.] 
Well . . we've had some very interesting talks since. And 
his views upon Education are quite . . Utopian. Good- 
bye, Miss Trebell. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Good-byC. 

MRS. FARRANT. I wouldn't be so haughty till after the 
election, if I were you, Mr. Blackborough. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Indifferently.] Oh, I'm glad he's with 
us on the Church question . . so far. 

MRS. FARRANT. So far as youVe made up your minds? 
The electoral cat will jump soon. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [A little beaten by such polite cyn- 
icism.] Well . . our conservative principles ! After all, 
we know what they are. Good-night, Mrs. O'Connell. 

AMY O'CONNELL. Good-uight. 



ACT i] WASTE 11 

FARRANT. Your neuralgia better? 

AMY o^coNNELL. By fits and starts. 

FARRANT. [Robusfly.'] Come and play billiards. Hor- 
sham and Maconochie started a game. They can neither 
of them play. We left them working out a theory of 
angles on bits of paper. 

WALTER KENT. Profcssor Maconochie lured me on to 
golf yesterday. He doesn't suffer from theories about 
that. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [With appYOvalJ] Started life as a 
caddie. 

WALTER KENT. [PulUng tt wry face,~\ So he told me 
after the first hole. 

BLACKBOROUGH. What's this, Kent, about TrebelFs mak- 
ing you his secretary? 

WALTER KENT. He thinks he'll have me. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Almost reprovifigly.'] No question o£ 
politics ? 

FARRANT. More intrigue, Blackborough. 

WALTER KENT. [With disarming candour.'] The truth 
is, you see, I haven't any as yet. I was Socialist at Oxford 
. . but of course that doesn't count. I think I'd better 
learn my job under the best man I can find . . and who'll 
have me. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Grovely.'} What does your father say ? 

WALTER KENT. Oh, as long as Jack will inherit the 
property in a Tory spirit! My father thinks it my wild 
oats. 

A Footman has come in. 

THE FOOTMAN. Your car is round, sir. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Ah ! Good-night, Miss Davenport. 
Good-bye again, Mrs. Farrant . . a charming week-end. 

He makes a business-like departure, farrant fol" 
lows him. 

THE footman, a telephone message from Dr. Wedge- 



12 WASTE [act I 

croft, ma'am. His thanks; they stopped the express for 
him at Hitchin, and he has reached London quite safely. 

MRS. FARRANT. Thank you. 

The Footman goes out. mrs. farrant exhales deli- 
cately, as if the air were a little refined by black- 
borough's removal. 

MRS. farrant. Mr. Blackborough and his patent tur- 
bines and his gas engines and what not are the motive 
power of our party nowadays, Fanny. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Ycs, you claim to be steering plu- 
tocracy. Do you never wonder if it isn't steering you? 

MRS. o'coNNELL, growing restless, has wandered 
round the room, picking at the books in their cases. 

AMY o'coNNELL. I always like your books, Julia. It's 
an intellectual distinction to know someone who has read 
them. 

MRS. FARRANT. That's the Communion I choose. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Aristocrat . . fastidious aristocrat. 

MRS. FARRANT. No, now. Learning's a great leveller. 

FRANCES TREBELL. But Julia . . books are quite unreal. 
D'you think life is a bit like them? 

MRS. FARRANT. They bring me into touch with . . Oh, 
there's nothing more deadening than to be boxed into a set 
in Society ! Speak to a woman outside it . . she doesn't 
understand your language. 

FRANCES TREBELL. And do you think by prattling Hegel 
with Gilbert Wedgecroft when he comes to physic you 

MRS. FARRANT. [Joyously.'] Excellent physic that is. 
He never leaves a prescription. 

LADY DAVENPORT. Don't you think an aristocracy of 
brains is the best aristocracy. Miss Trebell? 

FRANCES TREBELL. [With a little more bitterness than 
the abstraction of the subject demands. '\ I'm sure it is just 
as out of touch with humanity as any other . . more so, 



ACT i] WASTE 13 

perhaps. If I were a country I wouldn't be governed by 
arid intellects. 

MRS. FARRANT. Manners, Frances. 

FRANCES TREBELL. I'm onc mysclf, and I know. TheyVe 
either dead or dangerous. 

GEORGE FARRANT comes back and goes straight to 

MRS. O'CONNELL. 

FARRANT. [Still robustly.'] Billiards, Mrs. O'Connell? 

AMY o'coNNELL. [Declining sweetly.^ I think not. 

FARRANT. Billiards, Lucy? 

LUCY DAVENPORT. [As Tohust OS he.'] Ycs, Uncle 
George. You shall mark while Walter gives me twenty- 
five and I beat him. 

WALTER KENT. [With a none-of-youY-impudence air.] 
I'll give you ten yards start and race you to the billiard 
room. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. Will you wcar my skirt? Oh . . 
Grandmamma's thinking me vulgar. 

LADY DAVENPORT. [Without prejudice.] Why, my dear, 
freedom of limb is worth having . . and perhaps it fits 
better with freedom of tongue. 

FARRANT. [In the proper avuncular tone.] I'll play you 
both . . and I'd race you both if you weren't so disgrace- 
fully young. 

AMY o'coNNELL has reached an open window. 

AMY o'coNNELL. I shall go for a walk with my neu- 
ralgia. 

MRS. FARRANT. Poor thing! 

AMY o'coNNELL. The moon's good for it. 

LUCY DAVENPORT. Shall you come. Aunt Julia? 

MRS. FARRANT. [In Hat pYOtest.] No, I will not sit up 
while you play billiards. 

MRS. o'coNNELL gocs out through the one window, 
stands for a moment, wistfully romantic, gazing at 
the moon, then disappears, farrant and walter 



14 WASTE [act I 

KENT are standing at the other, looking across the 
lawn. 
FARRANT. Horsham still arguing with Maconochie. 
They've got to Botany now. 

WALTER KENT. Demonstrating something with a . . 
what's that thing? 

WALTER goes out. 
FARRANT. {With a throw of his head towards the dis- 
tant HORSHAM.] He was so bored with our politics . . 
having to give his opinion, too. We could just hear your 
piano. 

And he follows walter. 
MRS. FARRANT. Take Amy O'Connell that lace thing, 
will you, Lucy? 

LUCY DAVENPORT. [Her tone expressing quite wonder- 
fully her sentiments towards the owner. '\ Don't you think 
she'd sooner catch cold? 

She catches it up and follows the two men; then 
after looking round impatiently, swings off in the 
direction mrs. o'connell took. The three women 
now left together are at their ease. 
FRANCES trebell. Did you expect Mr. Blackborough to 
get on well with Henry? 

MRS. FARRANT. He has bccome a millionaire by appre- 
ciating clever men when he met them. 

lady davenport. Yes, Julia, but his political conscience 
is comparatively new-born. 

MRS. FARRANT. Well, Mamma, can we do without Mr. 
Trebell? 

lady davenport. Everyone seems to think you'll come 
back with something of a majority. 

MRS. FARRANT. [A little impatient.'] What's the good 
of that ? The Bill can't be brought into the Lords . . and 
who's going to take Disestablishment through the Com- 



ACT i] WASTE 15 

mons for us? Not Eustace Fowler . . not Mr. Black- 
borough . . not Lord Charles . . not George ! 

LADY DAVENPORT. [Wamingly.'] Not all your brilliance 
as a hostess will keep Mr. Trebell in a Tory Cabinet. 

MRS. FARRANT. [With wUful Qvoidance of the point.'] 
Cyril Horsham is only too glad. 

LADY DAVENPORT. Because you tell him he ought to be. 

FRANCES TREBELL. \_Coming to the rescue.'] There is 
this. Henry has never exactly called himself a Liberal. 
He really is elected independently. 

MRS. FARRANT. I wonder will all the garden-cities be- 
come pocket-boroughs? 

FRANCES TREBELL. I think he has made a mistake. 

MRS. FARRANT. It makes things easier now . . his hav- 
ing kept his freedom. 

FRANCES TREBELL. I think it's a mistake to stand outside 
a system. There's an inhumanity in that amount of de- 
tachment . . 

MRS. FARRANT. [Brilliantly.] I think a statesman may 
be a little inhuman. 

LADY DAVENPORT. [With keenuess.] Do you mean 
superhuman? It's not the same thing, you know. 

MRS. FARRANT. I knOW. 

LADY DAVENPORT. Most peoplc don't kuow. 

MRS. FARRANT. [Proceeding with her cynicism.] Hu- 
manity achieves . . what? Housekeeping and children. 

FRANCES TREBELL. As far as a woman's concerned. 

MRS. FARRANT. [A little mockingly.] Now, Mamma, 
say that is as far as a woman's concerned. 

LADY DAVENPORT. My dear, you know I don't think so. 

MRS. FARRANT. We may none of us think so. But 
there's our position . . bread and butter and a certain 
satisfaction until . . Oh, Mamma, I wish I were like you 
. . beyond all the passions of life. 

LADY DAVENPORT. [With great vitality.] I'm nothing of 



16 WASTE [act I 

the sort. It's my egoism's dead . . that's an intimation of 
mortahty. 

MRS. FARRANT. I accept the snub, but I wonder what 
I'm to do with myself for the next thirty years. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Help Lord Horsham to govern the 
country. 

JULIA FARRANT givcs a little laugh and takes up the 
subject this time. 

MRS. FARRANT. Mamma . . how many people, do you 
think, believe that Cyril's grande passion for me takes 
that form? 

LADY DAVENPORT. Evcryonc who knows Cyril and most 
people who know you. 

MRS. FARRANT. Otherwise I seem to have fulfilled my 
mission in life. The boys are old enough to go to school. 
George and I have become happily unconscious of each 
other. 

FRANCES TREBELL. [With sudden energy of mind.'\ Till 
I was forty I never realised the fact that most women 
must express themselves through men. 

MRS. FARRANT. [^Looking at FRANCES o little curiously.'] 
Didn't your instinct lead you to marry . . or did you fight 
against it? 

FRANCES TREBELL. I don't know. Pcrhaps I had no 
vitality to spare. 

LADY DAVENPORT. That boy is a long time proposing to 
Lucy. 

This effectually startles the other two from their 
conversational reverie. 

MRS. FARRANT. Walter ? I'm not sure that he means to. 
She means to marry him if he does. 

FRANCES TREBELL. HaS shc told yOU SO? 

MRS. FARRANT. No. I judgc by her business-like inter- 
est in his welfare. 

FRANCES TREBELL. He's beginning to feel the responsi- 



ACT i] WASTE 17 

bility of manhood . . doesn't know whether to be fright- 
ened or proud of it. 

LADY DAVENPORT. It's 3. pretty thing to watch young 
people mating. When they're older, and marry from dis- 
appointment or deliberate choice, thinking themselves so 
worldly-wise . . 

MRS. FARRANT. \_Back fo her politely cynical mood.'] 
Well . . then at least they don't develop their differences 
at the same fire-side, regretting the happy time when 
neither possessed any character at all. 

LADY DAVENPORT. [^Givifig a final douche of common 
sense.] My dear, any two reasonable people ought to be 
able to live together. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Granted three sitting rooms. That'll 
be the next middle-class political cry . . when women 
are heard. 

MRS. FARRANT. {^Suddenly as practical as her mother.] 
Walter's lucky . . Lucy won't stand any nonsense. She'll 
have him in the Cabinet by the time he's fifty. 

LADY DAVENPORT. And are you the power behind your 
brother. Miss Trebell? 

FRANCES TREBELL. [^Gravcly,] Hc ignorcs women. 
I've forced enough good manners on him to disguise the 
fact decently. His affections are two generations ahead. 

MRS. FARRANT. Pcoplc like him in an odd sort of way. 

FRANCES TREBELL. That's just Fcspcct for work done . . 
one can't escape from it. 

There is a slight pause in their talk. By some not 
very devious route mrs. farrant's mind travels to 
the next subject. 

MRS. FARRANT. Fanny . . how fond are you of Amy 
O'Connell? 

FRANCES TREBELL. She says we're great friends. 

MRS. FARRANT. She says that of me. 

FRANCES TREBELL. It's a pity about her husband. 



18 WASTE [act I 

MRS. FARRANT. \_Almost provokifigly.'] What about him ? 

FRANCES TREBELL. It sccms to be understood that he 
treats her badly. 

LADY DAVENPORT. [^ little malicious.'] Is there any- 
particular reason he should treat her well? 

FRANCES TREBELL. Don't you like her, Lady Davenport ? 

LADY DAVENPORT. [Dealing out justice.'] I find her 
quite charming to look at and talk to . . but why shouldn't 
Justin O'Connell live in Ireland for all that? I'm going 
to bed, Julia. 

She collects her belongings and gets up. 

MRS. FARRANT. I must look in at the billiard room. 

FRANCES TREBELL. I WOn't COmC, JuHa. 

MRS. FARRANT. What's your brother working at? 

FRANCES TREBELL. I dou't kuow. Something we shan't 
hear of for a year, perhaps. 

MRS. FARRANT. On the Church business, I daresay. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Did you hear Lord Horsham at 
dinner on the lack of dignity in an irreligious state? 

MRS. FARRANT. Poor Cyril . . he'll have to find a way 
round that opinion of his now. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Docs he like leading his party? 

MRS. FARRANT. [After duc consideration.'] It's an in- 
tellectual exercise. He's the right man, Fanny. You see 
it isn't a party in the active sense at all, except now and 
then when it's captured by someone with an axe to grind. 

FRANCES TREBELL. [Humorously.] Such as my brother. 

MRS. FARRANT. [As humorous.] Such as your brother. 
It expresses the thought of the men who aren't taken in 
by the claptrap of progress. 

FRANCES TREBELL. Somctimcs they've a queer way of 
expressing their love for the people of England. 

MRS. FARRANT. But ouc must usc democracy. Welling- 
ton wouldn't . . Disraeli did. 



ACT i] WASTE 19 

LADY DAVENPORT. ^At the dooT.'] Good-night, Miss 
Trebell. 

FRANCES TREBELL. I'm coming . . it's past eleven. 

MRS. FARRANT. [At the wifidow.'] What a gorgeous 
night ! I'll come in and kiss you, Mamma. 

FRANCES follows LADY DAVENPORT and MRS. FARRANT 

starts across the lawn to the billiard room . . 
An hour later you can see no change in the room 
except that only one lamp is alight on the table in 
the middle, amy o'connell and henry trebell 
walk past one window and stay for a moment in the 
light of the other. Her wrap is about her shoulders. 
He stands looking down at her. 
AMY o'connell. There goes the moon . . it's quieter 
than ever now. \^She comes in.'] Is it very late? 
TREBELL. {^As he follows.'] Half-past twelve. 

trebell is hard-bitten, brainy, forty-five and very 
sure of himself. He has a cold, keen eye, which 
rather belies a sensitive mouth; hands which can 
grip, and a figure that is austere. 
AMY o'coNNELL. I ought to be in bed. I suppose every- 
one has gone. 

TREBELL. Early trains to-morrow. The billiard room 
lights are out. 

AMY o'coNNELL. The Walk has just tired me comfort- 
ably. 

TREBELL. Sit dowH. [She sits by the table. He sits by 
her, and says with the air of a certain buyer at a market.'] 
You're very pretty. 

AMY o'coNNELL. As Well here as by moonlight? Can't 
you see any wrinkles? 

TREBELL. One or two . . under the eyes. But they give 
character, and bring you nearer my age. Yes, Nature hit 
on the right curve in making you. 

She stretches herself, cat-like. 



20 WASTE [act I 

AMY o'coNNELL. Praise is the greatest of luxuries, isn't 
it, Henry? . . Henry . . [She caresses the name.'] 

TREBELL. Quitc right . . Henry. 

AMY o'coNNELL. Henry . . Trebell. 

TREBELL. Having formally taken possession of my 
name . . 

AMY O'CONNELL. I'll gO tO bed. 

His eyes have never moved from her. Now she 
breaks the contact and goes towards the door. 

TREBELL. I wouldn't . . my spare time for love making 
is so limited. 

She turns hack, quite at ease, her eyes challenging 
him. 

AMY o'coNNELL. That's the first offensive thing you've 
said. 

TREBELL. Why offensive? 

AMY o'coNNELL. I may flirt. Making love's another 
matter. 

TREBELL. Sit down, and explain the difference . . Mrs. 
O'Connell. 

She sits down. 

AMY o'coNNELL. Quite SO. "Mrs. O'Connell." That's 
the difference. 

TREBELL. [Provokingly.'] But I doubt if I'm interested 
in the fact that your husband doesn't understand you, and 
that your marriage w^as a mistake . . and how hard you 
find it to be strong. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [^Kindly.'] I'm not quite a fool, though 
you think so on a three months' acquaintance. But tell me 
this . . what education besides marriage does a woman 
get? 

TREBELL. {His head lifting quickly.] Education . . 

AMY o''coNNELL. Don't be business-hke. 

TREBELL. I beg your pardon. 

AMY o'coNNELL. Do you think the things you like to 



ACT i] WASTE n 

have taught in schools are any use to one when one comes 
to deal with you? 

TREBELL. [^After a little scrutiny of her face.'] Well, 
if marriage is only the means to an end . . what's the 
end? Not flirtation. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [With ttfi air of self -rev elation.'} I 
don't know. To keep one's place in the world, I suppose, 
one's self-respect and a sense of humour. 

TREBELL. Is that difficult? 

AMY o'coNNELL. To get what I want, without paying 
more than it's worth to me . . ? 

TREBELL. Ncvcr to be reckless. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [With o sidc-glancc.'] One isn't so 
often tempted. 

TREBELL. In fact . . to flirt with life generally. Now, 
what made your husband marry you? 

AMY o^coNNELL. [Dealing with the impertinence in her 
own fashion.] What would make you marry me? Don't 
say : Nothing on earth. 

TREBELL. [Speaking apparently of someone else.] A 
prolonged fit of idleness might make me marry . . a clever 
woman. But I've never been idle for more than a week. 
And I've never met a clever woman . . worth calling a 
woman. 

AMY o^coNNELL. [Bringing their talk back to herself, 
and fastidiously.] Justin has all the natural instincts. 

TREBELL. He's Roman Catholic, isn't he? 

AMY o'coNNELL. So am I . . by profession. 

TREBELL. It's a poor religion unless you really believe 
in it. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [Appealing to him.] If I were to live 
at Linaskea, and have as many children as God sent, I 
should manage to make Justin pretty miserable ! And 
what would be left of me at all, I should like to know? 

TREBELL. So Justin Hvcs at Linaskea alone? 



2^ WASTE [act 1 

AMY o'coNNELL. I'm told HOW there's a pretty house- 
maid. . . [She shrugs.'] 

TREBELL. Does he drink, too? 

AMY o'coNNELL. Oh, no. You'd like Justin, I daresay. 
He's clever. The thirteenth century's what he knows 
about. He has done a book on its statutes . . has been 
doing another. 

TREBELL. And after an evening's hard work I find you 
here, ready to flirt with. 

AMY o'coNNELL. What have you been working at? 

TREBELL. A twentieth century statute, perhaps. That's 
not any concern of yours, either. 

She does not follow his thought. 

AMY o'coNNELL. No. I prefer you in your tmprofes- 
sional moments. 

TREBELL. Real flattery. I didn't know I had any. 

AMY o'coNNELL. That's why you should flirt with me . . 
Henry . . to cultivate them. I'm afraid you lack imagina- 
tion. 

TREBELL. One must choose something to lack in this life. 

AMY o'coNNELL. Not dcvclop your nature to its utmost 
capacity. 

TREBELL. And then? 

AMY o'coNNELL. Well, if that's not an end in itself . . 
[With a touch of romantic piety.] I suppose there's the 
hereafter. 

TREBELL. [Grimly material.] What ! more developing? 
I watch people wasting time on themselves with amaze- 
ment . . I refuse to look forward to wasting eternity. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [Shaking her head.] You are very 
self-satisfied. 

TREBELL. Not morc so than any machine that runs 
smoothly. And I hope not self-conscious. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [Rather attractively treating him as a 
child.] It would do you good to fall really desperately in 



ACT i] WASTE ^5 

love with me . . to give me the power to make you un- 
happy. 

He suddenly becomes very definite. 

TREBELL. At twenty-three I engaged myself to be mar- 
ried to a charming and virtuous fool. I broke it off. 

AMY o'coNNELL. Did she mind much? 

TREBELL. We both minded. But I had ideals of wom- 
anhood that I wouldn't sacrifice to any human being. Then 
I fell in with a woman who seduced me, and for a whole 
year led me the life of a French novel . . played about 
with my emotion as I had tortured that other poor girl's 
brains. Education you'd call it in the one case as I called 
it in the other. What a waste of time ! 

AMY o'coNNELL. And what has become of your ideal? 

TREBELL. {Relapsing to his former mood.'] It's no 
longer a personal matter. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [With coquetry.'] You're not inter- 
ested in my character? 

TREBELL. Oh, ycs, I am . . up to kissing point. 

She does not shrink, but speaks with just a shade of 
contempt. 

AMY o'coNNELL. You get that far more easily than a 
woman. That's one of my grudges against men. Why 
can't women take love-affairs so lightly? 

TREBELL. There are reasons. But make a good begin- 
ning with this one. Kiss me at once. 

He leans towards her. She considers him quite 
calmly, 

AMY O'CONNELL. No. 

TREBELL. When will you, then? 

AMY o'coNNELL. When I can't help myself . . if that 
time ever comes. 

TREBELL. [Accepting the postponement in a business- 
like spirit.'\ Well . . I'm an impatient man. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [Confessing engagingly.] I made ug 



U WASTE [act I 

my mind to bring you within arms' length of me when 
we'd met at Lady Percival's. Do you remember? iHis 
face shows no sign of it.l It was the day after your 
speech on the Budget. 

TREBELL. Then I remember. But I haven't observed 
the process. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [Subtly.'] Your sister grew to like me 
very soon. That's all the cunning there has been. 

TREBELL. The rcst is just mutual attraction? 

AMY o'coNNELL. And Opportunities. 

TREBELL. Such as this. 

At the drop of their voices they become conscious 
of the silent house. 

AMY o^coNNELL. Do you really think everyone has gone 
to bed? 

TREBELL. [^Disregardful.l And what is it makes my 
pressing attentions endurable . . if one may ask? 

AMY o'coNNELL. Some Spiritual need or other, I sup- 
pose, which makes me risk unhappiness . . in fact, wel- 
come it. 

TREBELL. [With great briskness.'] Your present need is 
a good shaking . . I seriously mean that. You get to at- 
tach importance to these shades of emotion. A slight 
physical shock would settle them all. That's why I asked 
you to kiss me just now. 

AMY o^coNNELL. You havcu't Very nice ideas, have you ? 

TREBELL. There are three facts in life that call up emo- 
tion . . Birth, Death, and the Desire for Children. The 
niceties are shams. 

AMY o^coNNELL. Then why do you want to kiss me? 

TREBELL. I dou't . . seriously. But I shall in a minute, 
just to finish the argument. Too much diplomacy always 
ends in a fight. 

AMY o'coNNELL. And if I don't fight . . it'd be no fun 
for you, I suppose? 



ACT i] WASTE '25 

TREBELL. You wouM get that much good out of me. 
For it's my point of honour . . to leave nothing I touch as 
I find it. 

He is very close to her. 

AMY o'coNNELL. You're frightening me a little . . 

TREBELL. Come and look at the stars again. Come along. 

AMY o^coNNELL. Give me my wrap. ^He takes it up, 
hilt holds it.'\ Well, put it on me. [He puts it round her, 
hut does not withdraw his arms.'] Be careful; the stars 
are looking at you. 

TREBELL. No, they can't see so far as we can. That's 
the proper creed. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [Softly, alfuost shyly.] Henry. 

TREBELL. [Bending closer to her.] Yes, pretty thing. 

AMY o'coNNELL. Is this what you call being in love? 
He looks up and listens. 

TREBELL. Here's somebody coming. 

AMY O'CONNELL. Oh ! . . 

TREBELL. What docs it matter? 

AMY o'coNNELL. I'm untidy, or something . . 

She slips out, for they are close to the window. The 
FOOTMAN enters, stops suddenly. 
THE FOOTMAN. I beg your pardon, sir. I thought every- 
one had gone. 

TREBELL. I've just been for a walk. I'll lock up if you 
like. 

THE FOOTMAN. I can casily wait up, sir. 
TREBELL. [At the window.'] I wouldn't. What do you 
do . . just slide the bolt? 

THE FOOTMAN. That's all, sir. 
TREBELL. I sce. Good-night. 
., THE FOOTMAN. Good-uight, sir. 

He goes, trebell's demeanour suddenly changes, 
becomes alert, with the alertness of a man doing 



^6 WASTE [act 1 

something in secret. He leans out of the window 
and whispers. 

TREBELL. Amy ! 

There is no answer, so he gently steps out. For a 
moment the room is empty, and there is silence. 
Then amy has flown from him into the safety of 
lights. She is Pushed, trembling, but rather ecstatic, 
and her voice has lost all affectation now. 

AMY o'coNNELL. Oh . . oh . . you shouldn't have kissed 
me like that! 

TREBELL stands in the window-way, a light in his 
eyes, and speaks low hut commandingly. 

TREBELL. Comc here. 

Instinctively she moves towards him. They speak 
in whispers. 

AMY o'coNNELL. He was locking up. 

TREBELL. I've Sent him to bed. 

AMY O'CONNELL. He WOn't gO. 

TREBELL. Never mind him. 

AMY o'coNNELL. We're Standing full in the light . . 
anyone could see us. 

TREBELL. [With ficrcc egotism.'] Think of me . . not 
of anyone else. \^He draws her from the window; then 
does not let her go.] May I kiss you again? 
AMY o'coNNELL. {^Hcr cycs closed.] Yes. 

He kisses her. She stiffens in his arms; then laughs 
almost joyously, and is commonplace. 
AMY o'coNNELL. Well . . let me get my breath. 
TREBELL. [Letting her stand free.] Now . . go along. 
Obediently she turns to the door, hut sinks on the 
nearest chair. 
AMY o^coNNELL. In a minutc. I'm a little faint. \He 
goes to her quickly.] No, it's nothing. 

TREBELL. Come into the air again. {Then half seri- 
ously.] I'll race you across the lawn. 



ACT i] WASTE 2T 

AMY o'coNNELL. IStUl hreatkless and a little hysterical.'] 
Thank you ! 

TREBELL. Shall I Carry you? 

AMY o'coNNELL. Don't be silly. IShe recovers her self- 
possession, gets up and goes to the window, then looks 
back at him and says very beautifully.'] But the night's 
beautiful, isn't it? 

He has her in his arms again, more firmly this time, 

TREBELL. Make it so. 

AMY o'coNNELL. {^Struggling . . with herself.] Oh, 
why do you rouse me like this? 

TREBELL. Because I want you. 

AMY o'coNNELL. Want me to . . ? 

TREBELL. Want you to . . kiss me just once. 

AMY o'coNNELL. [Yielding.] If I do . . don't let me 
go mad, will you? 

TREBELL. Perhaps. [He bends over her, her head drops 
back.] Now. 

AMY O'CONNELL. YeS ! 

She kisses him on the mouth. Then he would re- 
lease her, hut suddenly she clings again. 
Oh . . don't let me go ! 
TREBELL. [With ficrcc pride of possession.] Not yet. 
She is fragile beside him. He lifts her in his arms 
and carries her out into the darkness. 



^8 WASTE [act n 



THE SECOND ACT 

trebell's house in Queen Anne Street, London. Eleven 
o'clock on an October morning. 

trebell's working room is remarkable chieily for the love 
of sunlight it evidences in its owner. The walls are 
white; the window which faces you is hare of all hut 
the necessary curtains. Indeed, lack of draperies 
testifies also to his horror of dust. There faces you 
besides a double door; when it is opened another 
door is seen. When that is opened you discover a 
writing table, and beyond can discern a book-case 
filled with heavy volumes — law reports, perhaps. 
The little room beyond is, so to speak, an under- 
study. Between the two rooms a window, again 
barely curtained, throws light down the staircase. 
But in the big room, while the books are many, the 
choice of them is catholic; and the book-cases are 
low, running along the wall. There is an armchair 
before the bright fire, which is on your right. There 
is a sofa. And in the middle of the room is an enor- 
mous double writing table, piled tidily with much 
appropriate impedimenta, blue books and pamphlets, 
and with an especial heap of unopened letters and 
parcels. At the table sits trebell himself, in good 
health and spirits, but eyeing askance the work to 
which he has evidently just returned. His sister 
looks in on him. She is dressed to go out, and has a 
housekeeping air. 



ACT n] WASTE 29 

FRANCES. Are you busy, Henry? 

TREBELL. Morc or less. Come in. 

FRANCES. You'll dine at home? 

TREBELL. Anyone coming? 

FRANCES. Julia Far rant and Lucy have run up to town, 
I think. I thought of going round and asking them to 
come in . . but perhaps your young man will be going 
there. Amy O'Conncll said something vague about our 
going to Charles Street . . but she may be out of town 
by now. 

TREBELL. Well . . I'll be in anyhow. 

FRANCES. IGoing to the window as she buttons her 
gloves.'] Were you on deck early this morning? It must 
have been lovely. 

TREBELL. No, I tumcd in before we got out of le Havre. 
I left Kent on deck, and found him there at six. 

FRANCES. I don't think autumn means to come at all 
this year . . it'll be winter one morning. September has 
been like a hive of bees, busy and drowsy. By the way, 
Cousin Mary has another baby . . a girl. 

TREBELL. [^Indifferent to the information.] That's the 
fourth. 

FRANCES. Fifth. They asked me down for the christ- 
ening . . but I really couldn't. 

TREBELL. September's the month for Tuscany. The car 
chose to break down one morning just as we were starting 
North again ; so we climbed one of the little hills, and sat 
for a couple of hours, while I composed a fifteenth century 
electioneering speech to the citizens of Siena. 

FRANCES. [With a half smile.'] Have you a vein of 
romance for holiday time? 

TREBELL. [Dispersing the suggestion.] Not at all ro- 
mantic . . nothing but figures and fiscal questions. That 
was the hardest commercial civilisation there has been;, 
though you only think of its art and its murders now. 



30 WASTE [act n 

FRANCES. The papers on both sides have been very full 
of you . . saying you hold the moral balance . . or deny- 
ing it. 

TREBELL. An intcrviewer caught me at Basle. I offered 
to discuss the state of the Swiss navy. 

FRANCES. Was that before Lord Horsham wrote to you? 

TREBELL. Yes. His letter came to Innsbruck. He 
"expressed" it somehow. Why . . it isn't known that he 
will definitely ask me to join? 

FRANCES. The Whitehall had a leader before the Elec- 
tions were will over to say that he must . . but, of course, 
that was Mr. Farrant. 

TREBELL. {Knowifigly.'] Mrs. Farrant. I saw it in 
Paris . . it just caught me up. 

FRANCES. The Times is very shy over the whole ques- 
tion . . has a letter from a fresh bishop every day . . 
doesn't talk of you very kindly yet. 

TREBELL. Tampering with the Establishment, even Can- 
telupe's way, will be a pill to the real old Tory right to 
the bitter end. 

WALTER KENT comes ifi, vevy fresh and happy-look- 
ing. A young man started in life, trebell hails him. 

TREBELL. Hullo . . you'vc not been long getting shaved. 

KENT. How do you do. Miss Trebell? Lucy turned me 
out. 

FRANCES. My congratulations. I've not seen you since 
I heard the news. 

KENT. \_Glad and unembarrassed.'] Thank you. I do 
deserve them, don't I ? Mrs. Farrant didn't come down . . 
she left us to breakfast together. But I've a message for 
you . . her love and she is in town. I went and saw Lord 
Charles, sir. He will come to you, and be here at half 
past eleven. 

TREBELL. Look at thcsc. 



ACT ii] WASTE 31 

He smacks on the back, so to speak, the pile of par- 
cels and letters. 
KENT. Oh, Lord ! . . I'd better start on them, 
FRANCES. [Continuing in her smooth, oldmaidish man- 
fter.l Thank you for getting engaged just before you 
went off with Henry . . it has given me my only news of 
him, through Lucy and your postcards. 
TREBELL. Oh, what about Wedgecroft? 
KENT. I think it was he spun up just as I'd been let in. 
TREBELL. Oh, wcll . . \_And he rings at the telephone 
which is on his tabic.'] 

KENT. [Confiding in miss trebell.] We're a common 
sense couple, aren't we? I offered to ask to stay behind, 
but she . . . 

SIMPSON, the maid, comes in. 
SIMPSON. Dr. Wedgecroft, sir. 

wedgecroft is on her heels. If you have an eye for 
essentials you may tell at once that he is a doctor, 
hut if you only notice externals you will take him 
for anything else. He is over forty, and in perfect 
health of body and spirit. His enthusiasms are his 
vitality, and he has too many of them ever to lose 
one. He squeezes miss trebell's hand with an air 
of fearless affection, which is another of his char^ 
act eristics, and not the least lovable. 
wedgecroft. How are you? 
FRANCES. I'm very well, thanks. 

WEDGECROFT. \To TREBELL, as they shoke hands.'] 
You're looking fit. 
TREBELL. [With tremendous emphasis.] I am! 
WEDGECROFT. You'vc got the motor eye, though. 

TREBELL. Full of duSt ? 

WEDGECROFT. Look at Kcnt's. [He takes Walter's arm.] 
It's a slight but serious contraction of the pupil . . which 
I charge fifty guineas to cure. 



32 WASTE [act n 

FRANCES. If s the eye of faith in you and your homeo- 
pathic doses. Don't you interfere with it. 

FRANCES TREBELL, housekeeper, goes out. kent has 
seised on the letters and is carrying them to his room. 

KENT. This looks Hke popularity and the great heart 
of the people, doesn't it? 

WEDGECROFT. Trebell, you're not ill, and I've work to do. 

TREBELL. I want ten minutes. Keep anybody out, Kent. 

KENT. I'll switch that speaking tube arrangement to 
my room. 

TREBELL^ Overflowing with vitality, starts to pace the 
floor. 

TREBELL. I'vc sccu the last of Pump Court, Gilbert. 

WEDGECROFT. The Bar ought to give you a testimonial 
. . to the man who not only could retire on twenty years' 
briefs, but has. 

TREBELL. Fifteen. But I bled the City sharks with a 
good conscience . . quite freely. 

WEDGECROFT. [With a pretence of grumbling. '\ I wish 
I could retire. 

TREBELL. No you dou't. Doctoriug's a priestcraft . . 
you've taken vows. 

WEDGECROFT. Then why don't you establish our church 
instead of . . 

TREBELL. Yes, my friend . . but you're a heretic. I'd 
have to give the Medical Council power to burn you at the 
stake. 

KENT. [With the hook packages.'] Parcel from the 
S. P. C. K., sir. 

TREBELL. I know . . Disestablishment a crime against 
God; sermon preached by the Vicar of something Parva 
in eighteen seventy-three. I hope you're aware it's your 
duty to read all those. 

KENT. Suppose they convert me? Lucy wanted to 
know if she could see you. 



ACT n] WASTE 33 

TREBELL. [Hw eyehvows up.l Yes, I'll call at Mrs. 
Farrant's. Oh, wait. Aren't they coming to dinner? 

KENT. To-night ? No, I think they go back to Shapters 
by the five o'clock. I told her she might come round 
about twelve, on the chance. 

TREBELL. Ycs . . if Cantclupc's punctual . . I'd sooner 
not have too long with him. 
KENT. All right, then. 

He goes, shutting the door; then you hear the door 
of his room shut, too. The two friends face each 
other, glad of a talk. 

TREBELL. Well ? 

WEDGECROFT. Well . . you'll never do it. 

TREBELL. YcS, I shall. 

WEDGECROFT. You can't carry any bill to be a credit to 
you with the coming Tory cabinet on your back. You 
know the Government is cursing you with its dying breath. 

TREBELL. [Ruhhing his hands.'] Of course. They've 
been beaten out of the House and in now. I suppose they 
will meet Parliament. 

WEDGECROFT. They must, I think. It's over a month 
since 

TREBELL. \His thoughts running quickly.] There'll 
only be a nominal majority of sixteen against them. The 
Labour lot are committed on their side . . and now that 
the Irish have gone 

WEDGECROFT. But they'll be beaten on the Address, 
first go. 

TREBELL. Ycs . . Horsham hasn't any doubt of it. 

WEDGECROFT. He'll be in office within a week of the 
King's speech. 

TREBELL. [With another access of energy.] I'll pull the 
bill that's in my head through a Horsham cabinet and 
the House. Then I'll leave them . . they'll go to the 
country 



34 WASTE [act n 

WEDGECROFT. You know Percival's pledge about that at 
Bristol wasn't very definite. 

TREBELL. Horsham means to. 

WEDGECROFT. [With friendly contempt. 1 Oh, Horsham ! 

TREBELL. Anyway, it's about Percival I want you. How 
ill is he? 

WEDGECROFT. Not Very. 

TREBELL. Is he going to die? 

WEDGECROFT. Well, I'm attending him. 

TREBELL. \Pinked.'] Yes , . that's a good answer. How 
does he stomach me in prospect as a colleague, so far ? 

WEDGECROFT. Sir, professional etiquette forbids me to 
disclose what a patient may confess in the sweat of his 
agony. 

TREBELL. He'll be Chancellor again, and lead the House. 

WEDGECROFT. Why not ? He only grumbles that he's 
getting old. 

TREBELL. {Thinking busily again.} The difficulty is I 
shall have to stay through one budget with them. He'll 
have a surplus . . well, it looks like it . . and my only 
way of agreeing with him will be to collar it. 

WEDGECROFT. But . . good heavcus ! . . you'll have a 
hundred million or so to give away when you've disen- 
dowed. 

TREBELL. Not to givc away. I'll sell every penny. 

WEDGECROFT. [With an incredulous grin.} You're not 
going back to extending old-age pensions after turning 
the unfortunate Liberals out on it, are you? 

TREBELL. No, no . . none of your half crown measures. 
They can wait to round off their solution of that till 
they've the courage to make one big bite of it 

WEDGECROFT. We shan't see the day. 

TREBELL. {Lifting the subject off its feet.'\ Not if I 
come out of the cabinet and preach revolution? 

WEDGECROFT. Of wiU they make a Tory of you? 



ACT n] WASTE 35 

TREBELL. [Acknowledging that stroke with a return 
grin.'] It'll be said they have when the bill is out. 

WEDGECROFT. It's Said so already. 

TREBELL. Who knows a radical bill when he sees it! 

WEDGECROFT. Fm not pleased you have to be running a 
tilt against the party system. [He becomes a little dubi- 
ous.] My friend . . it's a nasty windmill. Oh, you've not 
S€en that article in the Nation on Politics and Society . . 
it's written at Mrs. Farrant and Lady Lurgashall and that 
set. They hint that the Tories would never have had you 
if it hadn't been for this bad habit of opposite party men 
meeting each other. 

TREBELL. [Unimpressed.] Excellent habit! What we 
really want in this country is a coaHtij)n_of all the_ shibbo- 
leths with the rest of us in opposition . . for five years 
only. 

WEDGECROFT. [Smiling generously.] Well, it's a sensa- 
tion to see you become arbiter. The Tories are owning 
they can't do without you. Percival likes you personally 
. . Townsend don't matter . . Cantelupe you buy with a 
price, I suppose . . Farrant you can put in your pocket. 
I tell you I think the man you may run up against is 
Blackborough. 

TREBELL. No, all he wants is to be let look big . . and 
to have an idea given him when he's going to make a 
speech, which isn't often. 

WEDGECROFT. Otherwise . . I suppose . . now I may 
go down to history as having been in your confidence. 
I^m very glad you've arrived. 

TREBELL. [With great seriousness.] I've sharpened 
myself as a weapon to this purpose. 

WEDGECROFT. [Kindly.] And you're sure of yourself, 
aren't you? 

TREBELL. [Tuming his wrist,] Try. 



36 WASTE [act n 

WEDGECROFT. \_Slipping his doctor's fingers over the 
pulse,'] Seventy, I should say. 

TREBELL. I promisc you it hasn't varied a beat these 
three big months. 

WEDGECROFT. Well, I wish it had. Perfect balance is 
most easily lost. How do you know youVe the power of 
recovery? . . and it's that gets one up in the morning, 
day by day. 

TREBELL. Is it? My brain works steadily on . . hasn^t 
failed me yet. I keep it well fed. \He breathes deeply.] 
But I'm not sure one shouldn't have been away from Eng- 
land for five years instead of five weeks . . to come back 
to a job like this with a fresh mind. D'you know why 
really I went back on the Liberals over this question? Not 
because they wanted the church money for their pensions 
. . but because all they can see in Disestablishment is de- 
struction. Any fool can destroy ! I'm not going to let a 
power like the Church get loose from the State. A thir- 
teen hundred years' tradition of service . . and all they 
can think of is to cut it adrift ! 

WEDGECROFT. I think the Church is moribund. 

TREBELL. Oh, ycs, of coursc you do . . you sentimental 
agnostic anarchist. Nonsense ! The supernatural's a bit 
blown upon . . till we re-discover what it means. But it's 
not essential. Nor is the Christian doctrine. Put a Jesuit 
in a corner, and shut the door, and he'll own that. No . . 
the tradition of self-sacrifice and fellowship in service for 
its own sake . . that's the spirit we've to capture and keep. 

WEDGECROFT. [Really struck.] A secular Church ! 

TREBELL. [With reasoning in his tone.] Well . , why 
not? Listen here. In drafting an act of Parliament one 
must alternately imagine oneself God Almighty and the 
most ignorant, prejudiced little blighter who will be af- 
fected by what's passed. God says : Let's have done with 
Heaven and Hell . . it's the Earth that shan't pass away. 



ACT n] WASTE 37 

Why not turn all those theology mongers into doctors or 
schoolmasters ? 

WEDGECROFT. As tO doctorS 

TREBELL. Quitc SO, you naturally prejudiced blighter. 
That priestcraft don't need re-inforcing. 

WEDGECROFT. It ueeds recognition. 

TREBELL. What ! It's the only thing most people be- 
lieve in. Talk about superstition ! However, there's more 
life in you. Therefore it's to be schoolmasters. 

WEDGECROFT. How ? 

TREBELL. Listen again, young man. In the youth of the 
world, when priests were the teachers of men . . . 

WEDGECROFT. \_Not to be prcacked o^.] And physicians 
of men. 

TREBELL. Shut Up. 

WEDGECROFT. If there's any real reform going, I want 
my profession made into a state department. I won't 
shut up for less. 

TREBELL. [Putting this aside with one finger."] I'll deal 
with you later. There's still Youth in the world in an- 
other sense; but the priests haven't found out the differ- 
ence yet, so they're wasting most of their time. 

WEDGECROFT. Religious education won't do now-a-days. 

TREBELL. What's Now-a-days? You're very dull, 
Gilbert. 

WEDGECROFT. I'm not duller than the people who will 
have to understand your scheme. 

TREBELL. They won't understand it. I shan't explain to 
them that education i s religion, and that those who deal 
in it are priests without any laying on of hands. 

WEDGECROFT. No matter what they teach? 

TREBELL. No . . the matter is how they teach it. I see 
schools in the future, Gilbert, not built next to the church, 
but on the site of the church. 



38 WASTE [act n 

WEDGECROFT. Do you think the world is grown up 
enough to do without dogma? 

TREBELL. YcS, I do. 

WEDGECROFT. What ! . . and am I to write my prescrip- 
tions in English? 

TREBELL. Ycs, you are. 

WEDGECROFT. Lord save us! I never thought to find 
you a visionary. 

TREBELL. Isu't it absurd to think that in a hundred years 
we shall be giving our best brains, and the price of them, 
not to training grown men into the discipline of destruc- 
tion . . not even to curing the ills which we might be 
preventing . . but to teaching our children? There's 
nothing else to be done . . nothing else matters. But it's 
work for a priesthood. 

WEDGECROFT. [Affected; not quite convinced.'\ Do you 
think you can buy a tradition and transmute it? 

TREBELL. Dou't mock at money. 

WEDGECROFT. I ucvcr havc. 

TREBELL. But you Speak of it as an end not as a means. 
That's unfair. 

WEDGECROFT. I speaks as I finds. 

TREBELL. I'll buy the Church, not with money, but with 
the promise of new life. [A certain rather gleeful cun- 
ning comes over him.'] It'll only look like a dose of reac- 
tion at first . . Sectarian Training Colleges endowed to 
the hilt, 

WEDGECROFT. What'll the Nonconformists say? 

TREBEj>L. Bribe them with the means of equal efficiency. 
The crux of the whole matter will be in the statutes I'll 
force on those colleges. 

WEDGECROFT. They'll want dogma. 

TREBELL. Dogma's not a bad thing if you've power to 
adapt it occasionally. 



ACT ii] WASTE S9 

WEDGECROFT. Instead of spending your brains in ex- 
plaining it. Yes, I agree. 

TREBELL. [With full voiceJ] But in the creed I'll lay- 
down as unalterable there shall be neither Jew nor Greek 
. . -What do you think of St. Paul, Gilbert? 

WEDGECROFT. I'd make him the head of a college. 

TREBELL. I'll make the Devil himself head of a college, 
if he'll undertake to teach honestly all he knows, 

WEDGECROFT. And he'll conjure up Comte and Robes- 
pierre for you to assist in this little rechauffee of their 
schemes. 

TREBELL. Hullo ! Comtc I kucw about. Have I stolen 
from Robespierrd, too? 

WEDGECROFT. \_Gh'ing out the epigram with an air.'] 
Property to him who can make the best use of it. 

TREBELL. And then what we must do is to give the 
children power over their teachers? 

Now he is comically enigmatic, wedgecroft echoes 
him. 

WEDGECROFT. And what exactly do you mean by that? 

TREBELL. \_Serious again.'] How positive a pedagogue 
would you be if you had to prove your cases and justify 
your creed every century or so to the pupils who had 
learnt just a little more than you could teach them? Give 
power to the future, my friend . . not to the past. Give 
responsibility . . even if you give it for your own dis- 
credit. What's beneath trust deeds and last wills and tes- 
taments, and even acts of Parliament and official creeds? 
Fear of the verdict of the next generation . . fear of 
looking foolish in their eyes. Ah, we . . doing our best 
now . . must be ready for every sort of death. And to 
provide the means of change and disregard of the past is a 
secret of statesmanship. Presume that the world will come 
to an end every thirty years if it's not reconstructed. 



40 WASTE [act n 

Therefore give responsibility . . give responsibility . . 
give the children power. 

WEDGECROFT. [Disposed to whistle.li Those statutes will 
want some framing. 

TREBELL. ^Relapsing to a chuckle."] There's an inci- 
dental change to foresee. Disappearance of the parson 
into the schoolmaster . . and the Archdeacon into the 
Inspector . . and the Bishop into — I rather hope he'll stick 
to his mitre, Gilbert. 

WEDGECROFT. Some Ruskin will arise and make him. 

TREBELL. [As he paccs the room and the walls of it fade 
away to him.] What a church could be made of the best 
brains in England, sworn only to learn all they could, teach 
what they knew without fear of the future or favour to 
the past . . sworn upon their honour as seekers after 
truth, knowingly to tell no child a lie. It will come. 

WEDGECROFT. A priesthood of women, too? There's 
the tradition of service with them. 

TREBELL. \With the sourest look yet on his face.] 
Slavery . . not quite the same thing. And the paradox of 
such slavery is that they're your only tyrants. 

At this moment the hell of the telephone upon the 
table rings. He goes to it, talking the while. 
One has to be very optimistic not to advocate the harem. 
That's simple and wholesome . . Yes? 
KENT comes in, 

KENT. Does it work? 

TREBELL. {^Slamming down the receiver.] You and 
your new toy! What is it? 

KENT. I'm not sure about the plugs of it . . I thought 
I'd got them wrong. Mrs. O'Connell has come to see Miss 
Trebell, who is out, and she says will we ask y o u if any 
message has been left for her. 

TREBELL. No. Oh, about dinner? Well, she's round 
at Mrs. Farrant's. 



ACT n] WASTE 41 

KENT. I'll ring them up. 

He goes hack into his room to do so, leaving tre- 
bell's door open. The two continue their talk. 

TREBELL. My difficulties will be with Percival. 

WEDGECROFT. Not over the Church. 

TREBELL. You scc I must discovcr how keen he'd be on 
settling the Education quarrel, once and for all . . what 
there is left of it. 

WEDGECROFT. Hc's not Sectarian. 

TREBELL. It'll cost him his surplus. When'll he be up 
and about? 

WEDGECROFT. Not for a week or more. 

TREBELL. [Knitting his hrow.'\ And I've to deal with 
Cantelupe. Curious beggar, Gilbert. 

WEDGECROFT. Not my sort. He'll want some dealing 
with over your bill as introduced to me. 

TREBELL. I'vc not cross-cxamiucd company promoters 
for ten years without learning how to do business with a 
professional high churchman. 

WEDGECROFT. Providcuce limited . . eh? 

They are interrupted by mrs. o''connell''s appear- 
ance in the doorway. She is rather pale, very calm, 
hut there is pain in her eyes, and her voice is un- 
naturally steady. 

AMY. Your maid told me to come up, and I'm inter- 
rupting business . . I thought she was wrong. 

TREBELL. [With no trace of self-consciousness.l Well 
. . how are you, after this long time? 

AMY. How do you do? [Then she sees wedgecroft^ 
and has to control a shrinking from him.'] Oh ! 

WEDGECROFT. Hew are you, Mrs. O'Connell? 

TREBELL. Kent is telephoning to Frances. He knows 
where she is. 

AMY. How are you, Dr. Wedgecroft? [Then to tre- 



42 WASTE [act II 

BELL.] Did you have a good holiday? London pulls one 
to pieces wretchedly. I shall give up living here at all. 

WEDGECROFT. YoU look VCfy WCll. 
AMY. Do I? 

TREBELL. A very good holiday. Sit down . . he won't 
be a minute. 

She sits on the nearest chair. 

AMY. You're not ill . . interviewing a doctor? 

TREBELL. The One thing Wedgecroft's no good at is 
doctoring. He keeps me well by sheer moral suasion. 

KENT comes out of his room and is off downstairs. 
TREBELL calls to him. 
. TREBELL. Mrs. O'Conncll is here. 

KENT. Oh ! [He comes back and into the room.'] Miss 
Trebell hasn't got there yet. 

WEDGECROFT has Suddenly looked at his watch. 

WEDGECROFT. I must fly. Good-byc, Mrs. O'Connell. 

AMY. [Putting her hand, constrained by its glove, into 
his open hand.] I am always a little afraid of you. 

WEDGECROFT. That isn't the feeling a doctor wants to 
inspire. 

KENT. [To TREBELL.] David Evans 

TREBELL. Evans ? 

KENT. The reverend one . . is downstairs, and wants 
to see you. 

WEDGECROFT. [As he comcs to them.] Hampstead Road 
Tabernacle . . Oh, the mammon of righteousness ! 

TREBELL. Shut Up ! How long havc I before Lord 
Charles ? 

KENT. Only ten minutes. 

MRS. o^coNNELL gocs to Sit at the big table, and ap- 
parently idly takes a sheet of paper to scribble on. 

TREBELL. [Half thinking, half questioning.] He's a man 
I can say nothing to politely. 

WEDGECROFT. I'm off to Pcrcival's now. Then I've an- 



ACT n] WASTE i^ 

other case, and I'm due back at twelve. If there's any- 
thing helpful to say I'll look in again for two minutes . . 
not more. 

TREBELL. You're a good man. 

WEDGECROFT. [As lie goes.'] Congratulations, Kent. 
KENT. [Taking him to the stairs.^ Thank you very 
much. 

jVMY. [Beckoning with her eyesJ] What's this, Mr. 
Trebell? 

TREBELL. Eh? I beg your pardon. 

He goes behind her and reads over her shoulder 
what she has written, kent comes back. 
KENT. Shall I bring him up here? 

TREBELL looks Up, and for a moment stares at his 
secretary rather sharply, then speaks in a matter- 
of-fact voice. 
TREBELL. See him yourself, dow^nstairs. Talk to him 
for five minutes . . find out v^^hat he wants. Tell him it 
will be as well for the next week or two if he can say he 
hasn't seen me. 
KENT. Yes. 

He goes, trebell follows him to the door, which 
he shuts. Then he turns to face amy, who is tear- 
ing up the paper she wrote on. 
TREBELL. What is it? 

AMY. [Her steady voice breaking, her carefully calcu- 
lated control giving way.'] Oh, Henry . . Henry ! 
TREBELL. Are you in trouble? 

AMY. You'll hate me, but . . oh, it's brutal of you to 
have been away so long! 

TREBELL. Is it with your husband? 
AMY. Perhaps. Oh, come nearer to me . . do ! 
TREBELL. [Coming nearer, without haste or excitement.'] 
Well? [Her eyes are closed.] My dear girl, I'm too busy 



U WASTE [act II 

for love-making now. If there are any facts to be faced, 
let me have them . . quite quickly. 

She looks up at him for a moment; then speaks 
swiftly and sharply, as one speaks of disaster. 

AMY. There's a danger of my having a child . . your 
child . . some time in April. That's all. 

TREBELL. ^A sceptic who has seen a vision.'] Oh . . 
it's impossible ! 

AMY. [^Flashing at him, revengefully.] Why? 

TREBELL, [^Brought to his mundane self.] Well . . are 
you sure? 

AMY. [^In sudden agony.] D'you think I want it to be 
true? D'you think I — ? You don't know what it is to 
have a thing happening in spite of you. 

TREBELL. \_His face set in thought.] Where have you 
been since we met? 

AMY. Not to Ireland . . I haven't seen Justin for a 
year. 

TREBELL. All the easier for you not to see him for an- 
other year. 

AMY. That wasn't what you meant. 

TREBELL. It wasn't . . but never mind. 

They are silent for a moment . . m^les apart . . 
Then she speaks dully. 

AMY. We do hate each other . . don't we? 

TREBELL. Nousense ! Let's think of what matters. 

AMY. \^Aimlessly.] I went to a man at Dover . . picked 
him out of the directory . . didn't give my own name . . 
pretended I was off abroad. He was a kind old thing . . 
said it was all most satisfactory. Oh, my God! 

TREBELL. [He goes to bend over her kindly.] Yes, 
you've had a torturing month or two. That's been wrong. 
I'm sorry. 

AMY. Even now I have to keep telling myself that it's 
SO . . otherwise I couldn't understand it. Any more than 



ACT ii] WASTE 45 

one really believes one will ever die . . one doesn't believe 
that, you know. 

TREBELL. [Ow the edge of a sensation that is new to 
him.'] I am told that a man begins to feel miimportant 
ffom this moment forward. Perhaps it's true. 

AMY. What has it to do with you, anyhow? We don't 
belong to each other. How long were we together that 
night ? Half an hour ! You didn't seem to care a bit 
until after you'd kissed me, and . . this is an absurd 
consequence. 

TREBELL. Nature's a tyrant. 

AMY. Oh, it's my punishment . . I see that well enough 
. . for thinking myself so clever . . forgetting my duty 
and religion . . not going to confession, I mean. [Then 
hysteric ally.] God can make you believe in Him when 
He likes, can't He? 

TREBELL. [With comfortable strength."} My dear girl, 
this needs your pluck. [And he sits by her.] All we have 
to do is to prevent it being found out. 

AMY. Yes . . the scandal would smash you, wouldn't it ? 

TREBELL. There isn't going to be any scandal. 

AMY. No . . if we're careful. You'll tell me what to 
do, won't you? Oh, it's a relief to be able to talk about it. 

TREBELL. For one thing, you must take care of yourself, 
and stop worrying. 

It soothes her to feel that he is concerned; but it 
is not enough to be soothed. 

AMY. Yes, I wouldn't Hke to have been the means of 
smashing you, Henry . . especially as you don't care for 
me. 

TREBELL. I intend to care for you. 

AMY. Love me, I mean. I wish you did . . a little ; then 
perhaps I shouldn't feel so degraded. 

TREBELL. [A shade impatiently, a shade contemptuous- 
ly.] I can say I love you, if that'll make things easier. 



46 WASTE [act n 

AMY. [More helpless than ever.'] If you'd said it at 
first I should be taking it for granted . . though it wouldn't 
be any more true, I daresay, than now . . when I should 
know you weren't telling the truth. 

TREBELL. Then Fd do without so much confusion. 

AMY. Don't be so heartless. 

TREBELL. ^As he leaves her.] We seem to be attaching 
importance to such different things. 

AMY. [^Shrill even at a momentary desertion.] What do 
you mean? I want affection now just as I want food. I 
can't do without it . . I can't reason things out as you can. 
D'you think I haven't tried? [Then in sudden rebellion.] 
Oh, the physical curse of being a woman . . no better 
than any savage in this condition . . worse off than an 
animal. It's unfair. 

TREBELL. Ncvcr mind . . you're here now to hand me 
half the responsibility, aren't you? 

AMY. As if I could ! If I have to lie through the night, 
simply shaking with bodily fear, much longer . . I believe 
I shall go mad. 

This aspect of the matter is meaningless to him. He 
returns to the practical issue. 

TREBELL. There's nobody that need be suspecting, is 
there? 

AMY. My maid sees I'm ill and worried, and makes 
remarks . . only to me, so far. Don't I look a wreck? I 
nearly ran away when I saw Dr. Wedgecroft . . some of 
these men are so clever. 

TREBELL. [Calculating.] Someone will have to be 
trusted. 

AMY. [Burrowing into her little tortured self again.] 

And I ought to feel as if I had done Justin a great wrong 

. . but I don't. I hate you now; now and then. I was 

being myself. You've brought me down. I feel worthless. 

The last word strikes him. He stares at her. 



ACT ii] WASTE .47 

TREBELL. Do yOU ? 

AMY. [^Pleadingly.'] There's only one thing I'd like you 
to tell me, Henry . . it isn't much. That night we were 
together . . it was for a moment different to everything 
that has ever been in your life before, wasn't it? 

TREBELL. [Collecting himself as if to explain to a child.'] 
I must make you understand . . I must get you to realise 
that for a little time to come you're above the law . . 
above even the shortcomings and contradictions of a man's 
affection. 

AMY. But let us have one beautiful memory to share. 

TREBELL. [Determined she shall face the cold logic of 
her position.] Listen. I look back on that night as one 
looks back on a fit of drunkenness. 

AMY. [Neither understanding nor wishing to; only 
shocked and hurt.] You beast ! 

TREBELL. [With hitter sarcasm.] No, don't say that. 
Won't it comfort you to think of drunkenness as a beauti- 
ful thing? There are precedents enough . . classic ones. 

AMY. You mean I might have been any other woman. 

TREBELL. [Quitc inexorable.] Wouldn't any other 
woman have served the purpose . . and is it less of a pur- 
pose because we didn't know we had it? Does my un- 
worthiness then . . if you like to call it so . . make you 
unworthy now? I must make you see that it doesn't. 

AMY. [Petulantly hammering at her idee fix^.] But 
you didn't love me . . and you don't love me. 

TREBELL. [Keeping his patience.] No . . only within 
the last five minutes have I really taken the smallest inter- 
est in you. And now I believe I'm half jealous. Can you 
understand that? You've been talking a lot of nonsense 
about your emotions and your immortal soul. Don't you 
see it's only now that you've become a person of some 
importance to the world . . and why? 

AMY. [Losing her patience, childishly.] What do you 



48 WASTE [act n 

mean by the World? You don't seem to have any personal 
feelings at all. It's horrible you should have thought of 
me like that. There has been no other man than you that 
I would have let come anywhere near me . . not for more 
than a year. 

He realises that she will never understand. 

TREBELL. My dear girl, I'm sorry to be brutal. Does 
it matter so much to you that I should have wished to 
be the father of your child? 

AMY. {Ungracious, hut pacified by his change of tone."] 
It doesn't matter now. 

TREBELL. [Friendly still.'] On principle, I don't make 
promises. But I think I can promise you that if you keep 
your head, and will keep your health, this shall all be made 
as easy for you as if everyone could know. And let's 
think what the child may mean to you . . just the fact 
of his birth. Nothing to me, of course ! Perhaps that 
accounts for the touch of jealousy. I've forfeited my 
rights because I hadn't honourable intentions. You can't 
forfeit yours. Even if you never see him, and he has to 
grow up among strangers . . just to have had a child must 
make a difference to you. Of course, it may be a girl. 
I wonder. 

As he wanders on so optimistically she stares at him 
and her face changes. She realises . . 

AMY. Do you expect me to go through with this? 
Henry ! . . I'd sooner kill myself. 

There is silence between them. He looks at her as 
one looks at some unnatural thing. Then after a 
moment he speaks, very coldly. 

TREBELL. Oh . . indeed. Don't get foolish ideas into 
your head. You've no choice now . . no reasonable choice. 

AMY. [Driven to bay; her last friend an enemy. 1 I 
won't go through with it. 



ACT n] WASTE 49 

TREBELL. It hasn't been so much the fear of scandal, 
then 

AMY. That wouldn't break my heart. You'd marry me, 
wouldn't you ? We could go away somewhere. I could be 
very fond of you, Henry. 

TREBELL. [Marvelling at these tangents.'} Marry you! 
I should murder you in a week. 

This sounds only brutal to her; she lets herself be 
shamed. 

AMY. You've no more use for me than the use you've 
made of me. 

TREBELL. [Logical again.} Won't you realise that 
there's a third party to our discussion . . that I'm of no 
importance beside him, and you of very little. Think of 
the child. 

AMY biases into desperate rebellion. 

AMY. There's no child, because I haven't chosen there 
shall be ; and there shan't be, because I don't choose. You'd 
have me first your plaything and then Nature's, would you? 

TREBELL. [A little abashed.} Come now, you knew 
what you were about. 

AMY. [Thinking of those moments.} Did I? I found 
myself wanting you, belonging to you suddenly. I didn't 
stop to think and explain. But are we never to be happy 
and irresponsible . . never for a moment? 

TREBELL. Well . . ouc Can't pick and choose conse- 
quences. 

AMY. Your choices in life have made you what you 
want to be, haven't they? Leave me mine. 

TREBELL. But it's too late to argue like that. 

AMY. If it is, I'd better jump into the Thames. I've 
thought of it. 

He considers how best to make a last effort to bring 
her to her senses. He sits by her. 

TREBELL. Amy . . if you were my wife 



60 WASTE [act ii 

AMY. ^Unresponsive to him now.'] I was Justin's wife, 
and I went away from him sooner than bear him children. 
Had I the right to choose, or had I not? 

TREBELL. [Taking another path.] Shall I tell you some- 
thing I believe? If we were left to choose, we should 
stand for ever deciding whether to start with the right 
foot or the left. We blunder into the best things in life. 
Then comes the test . . have we faith enough to go on . . 
to go through with the unknown thing? 

AMY. ISo bored by these metaphysics.'] Faith in what? 

TREBELL. Our vitality . . I don't give a fig for beauty, 
happiness, or brains. All I ask of myself is . . can I pay 
Fate on demand? 

AMY. Yes . . in imagination. But I've got physical 
facts to face. 

But he has her attention now, and pursues the 
advantage. 

TREBELL. Very well, then . . let the meaning of them 
go. Look forward simply to a troublesome illness. In a 
little while you can go abroad quietly and wait patiently. 
We're not fools, and we needn't find fools to trust in. 
Then come back to England . . . 

AMY. And forget. That seems simple enough, doesn't 
it? 

TREBELL. If you dou't want the child, let it be mine . . 
ndt yours. 

AMY. [Wondering suddenly at this bond between them.] 
Yours ! What would you do with it ? 

TREBELL. [Matter-of-fact.] Provide for it, of course. 

AMY. Never see it, perhaps. 

TREBELL. Perhaps not. If there were anything to be 
gained . . for the child. I'll see that he has his chance 
as a human being. 

AMY, How hopeful ! [Now her voice drops. She is 



ACT n] WASTE 51 

looking back, perhaps at a past self.'] If you loved me . . 
perhaps I might learn to love the thought of your child. 

TREBELL. [As if half his life depended on her answer.'] 
Is that true? 

AMY. \_Irritably.] Why are you picking me to pieces? 
I think that is true. If you had been loving me for a long, 

long time \_The agony rushes back on her.] But now 

I!m only afraid. You might have some pity for me . . I'm 
so afraid. 

TREBELL. \Touched.] Indeed . . indeed, I'll take what 
share of this I can. 

She shrinks from him unforgivingly. 

AMY. No, let me alone. I'm nothing to you. I'm a sick 
beast in danger of my life, that's all . . cancerous ! 

He is roused for the first time, roused to horror and 
protest. 

TREBELL. Oh, you Unhappy woman ! . . . if life is like 
death to you . . . 

AMY. [Turning on him.] Don't lecture me ! If you're 
so clever put a stop to this horror. Or you might at least 
say you're sorry. 

TREBELL. Sorry ! \_The bell on the table rings jar- 
ringly.] Cantelupe ! 

He goes to the telephone. She gets up, cold and 
collected, steadied merely by the unexpected sound. 

AMY. I mustn't keep you from governing the country. 
I'm sure you'll do it very well. 

TREBELL. [^At the telephone.] Yes, bring him up, of 
course . . isn't Mr. Kent there? [Then to her.] I may 
be ten minutes with him or half an hour. Wait, and we'll 
come to a conclusion. 

KENT comes in, an open letter in his hand. 

KENT. This note, sir. Had I better go round myself 
and see him? 

TREBELL. [As hc takcs the note.] Cantelupe's come. 



52 WASTE [act II 

KENT. [^Glancing at the telephone.'] Oh, has he ! 

TREBELL. \^As he reads.} Yes, I think you had. 

KENT. Evans was very serious. 

He goes back into his room, amy moves swiftly to 
where trebell is standing, and whispers, 

AMY. Won't you tell me whom to go to ? 

TREBELL. No. 

AMY. Oh, really . . what unpractical, sentimental chil- 
dren you men are ! You and your consciences . . you and 
your laws. You drive us to distraction and sometimes to 

death by your stupidities. Poor women ! 

The Maid comes in to announce lord charles can- 
TELUPE, who follows her. cantelupe is forty, unath- 
letic, and a gentleman in the best and worst sense 
of the word. He moves always with a caution 
which may betray his belief in the personality of the 
Devil. He speaks cautiously, too, and as if not he 
but somet fling inside him were speaking. One feels 
that before strangers he would not, if he could help 
it, move or speak at all. A pale face: the mouth 
would be hardened by fanaticism were it not for the 
elements of Christianity in his religion; and he has 
the limpid eye of the enthusiast. 

trebell. Glad to see you. You know Mrs. O'Connell. 
cantelupe bows in silence. 

AMY. We have met. 

She offers her hand. He silently takes it and drops it. 

trebell. Th'en you'll wait for Frances? 

AMY. Is it worth while? 

KENT, with his hat on, leaves his room and goes 
downstairs. 

TREBELL. Havc you anything better to do ? 

AMY. There's somewhere I can go. But I mustn't keep 
you chatting of my affairs. Lord Charles is impatient to 
disestablish the Church. 



ACT n] WASTE 53 

CANTELUPE. [Unahle to escape a remark,'] Forgive me, 
since that is also your affair. 

AMY. Oh . . but I was received at the Oratory when I 
was married. 

CANTELUPE. [With contritiofi.'] I beg your pardon. 
Then he makes for the other side of the room, tre- 
BELL and MRS. o'coNNEDL stroll to the door, their 
eyes full of meaning. 
AMY. I think I'll go on to this place that I've heard of. 
If I wait . , for your sister . . she may disappoint me 
again. 

TREBELL. Wait. 

Kent's room is vacant. 
AMY. Well . . in here? 
TREBELL. If you like law-books. 

AMY. I haven't been much of an interruption now, 
have I? 

TREBELL. Pleasc wait. 
AMY. Thank you. 

TREBELL shuts her in, for a moment seems inclined to 
lock her in, hut he comes hack into his own room 
and faces cantelupe, who, having primed and 
trained himself on his suhject like a gun, fires off a 
speech, without haste, hut also apparently without 
taking hreath. 
CANTELUPE. I was extremely thankful, Mr. Trebell, to 
hear last week from Horsham that you will see your way 
to join his cabinet and undertake the disestablishment bill 
in the House of Commons. Any measure of mine, I have 
always been convinced, would be too much under the sus- 
picion of blindly favouring Church interests to command 
the allegiance of that heterogeneous mass of thought . . in 
some cases, alas, of free thought . . which now-a-days 
composes the Conservative party. I am more than content 



54 WASTE [act n 

to exercise what influence I may from a seat in the cabinet 
which will authorise the bill. 

TREBELL. Yes. That chair's uncomfortable. 
CANTELUPE takcs another. 

CANTELUPE. Horsham forwarded to me your memoran- 
dum upon the conditions you held necessary, and I incline 
to think I may accept them in principle on behalf of those 
who honour me with their confidences. 

He fishes some papers from his pocket, trebell 
sits squarely at his table to grapple with the matter. 

TREBEiLL. Horsham told me you did accept them . . it's 
on that I'm joining. 

CANTELUPE. Ycs . . in principle. 

TREBELL. Well . . wc couldn't carry a bill you disap- 
proved of, could we? 

CANTELUPE. [IVitk finesse.'] I hope not. 

TREBELL. [A little dangerously.'\ And I have no inten- 
tion of being made the scapegoat of a wrecked Tory com- 
promise with the Nonconformists. 

CANTELUPE. [Calmly ignoring the suggestion,'] So far 
as I am concerned I meet the Nonconformists on their 
own ground . . that Religion had better be free from all 
compromise with the State. 

TREBELL. Quitc SO . . if you'rc set free you'll look 
after yourselves. My discovery must be what to do with 
the men who think more of the state than their Church . . 
the majority of parsons, don't you think? . . if the ques- 
tion's really put and they can be made to understand it. 

CANTELUPE. [With sincere disdain.] There are more 
profitable professions. 

TREBELL. And Icss. Will you allow me that it is state- 
craft to make a profession profitable? 

CANTELUPE picks Up his papers, avoiding theoretical 
discussion. 



ACT ii] WASTE 55 

CANTELUPE. Well, now . . will you explain to me this 
project for endowing Education with your surplus? 

TREBELL. Putting Appropriation, the Buildings and the 
Representation question on one side for the moment? 

cXntelupe. Candidly, I have yet to master your fig- 
ures . . . 

TREBELL. The roughest figures so far. 

CANTELUPE. Still I havc yet to master them on the first 
two points. 

TREBELL. ^Firmly premising.'] We agree that this is 
not diverting Church money to actually secular uses. 

CANTELUPE. ^As he peeps from under his eyelids.'] I 
can conceive that it might not be. You know that we hold 
Education to be a Church function. But . . . 

TREBELL. Can you accept thoroughly now the secular 
solution for all Primary Schools? 

CANTELUPE. Haveu't we always preferred it to the un- 
denominational ? Are there to be facilities for a n y of the 
teachers giving dogmatic instruction? 

TREBELL. I uote your emphasis on any. I think we can 
put the burden of that decision on local authorities. Let 
us come to the question of Training Colleges for your 
teachers. It's on that I want to make my bargain. 

CANTELUPE. [Alert and cautious.] You want to endow 
colleges ? 

TREBELL. Heavily. 

CANTELUPE. Under public control? 

TREBELL. Church collegcs under Church control. 

CANTELUPE. There'd be others? 

TREBELL. To prcservc the necessary balance in the 
schools. 

CANTELUPE. Not fouudcd with Church money? 

TREBELL. Think of the grants in aid that will be re- 
leased. I must ask the Treasury for a further lump sum, 
and with that there may be sufficient for secular colleges 



56 WASTE [act n 

. . if you can agree with me upon the statutes of those 
over which you'd otherwise have free control. 
TREBELL is Weighing his words. 

CANTELUPE. "You" meaning, for instance . . what au- 
thorities in the Church? 

TREBELL. Bishops, I supposc . . and others, [cante- 
LUPE permits himself to smile.l On that point I shall be 
weakness itself, and . . may I suggest . . your seat in the 
Cabinet will give you some control. 

CANTELUPE, Statutes ? 

TREBELL. To be framed in the best interests of educa- 
tional efficiency. 

CANTELUPE. [Finding an opening.'] I doubt if we agree 
upon the meaning to be attached to that term. 

TREBELL. \_Forcing the issue.] What meaning do you 
attach to it? 

CANTELUPE. [^Smiling again.] I have hardly a sympa- 
thetic listener. 

TREBELL. You have an unprejudiced one . . the best 
you can hope for. I was not educated myself. I learnt 
certain things that I desired to know . . from reading my 
first book — Don Quixote it was — to mastering Company 
Law. You see, as a man without formulas, either for educa- 
tion or religion, I am perhaps peculiarly fitted to settle the 
double question. I have no grudges . . no revenge to take. 

CANTELUPE. \_Suddenly congenial.] Shelton's transla- 
tion of Don Quixote, I hope . . the modern ones have no 
flavour. And you took all the adventures as seriously as 
the Don did? 

TREBELL. \_Not expecting this.] I forget. 

CANTELUPE. It's the finer attitude . . the child's atti- 
tude. And it would enable you immediately to compre- 
hend mine towards an education consisting merely of prac- 
tical knowledge. The life of Faith is still the happy one. 
What is more crushingly finite than knowledge? Moral 



ACT ii] WASTE 57 

discipline is a nation's only safety. How much of your 
science tends in support of the great spiritual doctrine 
of sacrifice? 

TREBELL retums to his subject as forceful as ever. 

TREBELL. The Church has assimilated much in her time. 
Do "you think it wise to leave agnostic science at the side 
of the plate? I think, you know, that this craving for 
common knowledge is a new birth in the mind of man; 
and if your Church won't recognise that soon, by so much 
will she be losing her grip for ever over men's minds. 
What's the test of godliness but your power to receive 
the new idea in whatever form it comes, and give it life? 
It is blasphemy to pick and choose your good. \^For a 
moment his thoughts seem to he elsewhere.'] That's an 
unhappy man or woman or nation . . I know it if it has 
only come to me this minute . . and I don't care what 
their brains or their riches or their beauty or any of their 
triumphs may be . . they're unhappy and useless if they 
can't tell life from death. 

CANTELUPE. [Interested in the digression.'] Remember 
that the Church's claim has ever been to know that 
difference. 

TREBELL. ^Fastening to his subject again.] My point 
is this : A man's demand to know the exact structure of a 
fly's wing, and his assertion that it degrades any child in 
the street not to know such a thing, is a religious revival 
, . a token of spiritual hunger. What else can it be ? And 
we commercialise our teaching! 

CANTELUPE. I wouldu't have it so. 

TREBELL. Then I'm offering you the foundation of a 
new Order of men and women who'll serve God by teach- 
ing his children. Now shall we finish the conversation in 
prose? 

CANTELUPE. [Not to be put down.] What is the prose 
for God? 



58 WASTE [act ii 

TREBELL. [Not to he put dowfi, either.'] That's what we 
irreligious people are giving our lives to discover. [He 
plunges into detail.'] I'm proposing to found about seventy- 
two new colleges, and of course to bring the ones there 
are up to the new standard. Then we must gradually 
revise all teaching salaries in government schools . . to a 
scale I have in mind. Then the course must be compul- 
sory and the training time doubled 

CANTELUPE. Doublcd ! Four years? 

TREBELL. Well, a minimum of three . . a university 
course. Remember we're turning a trade into a calling. 

CANTELUPE. There's more to that than taking a degree. 

TREBELL. I think so. You've fought for years for your 
tests and your atmosphere with plain business men not 
able to understand such lunacy. Quite right . . atmos- 
phere's all that matters. If one and one don't make two 
by God's grace . . . 

CANTELUPE. Poetry again ! 

TREBELL. I bcg your pardon. Well . . you've no further 
proof. If you can't plant your thumb on the earth and 
your little finger on the pole star you know nothing of dis- 
tances. We must do away with text-book teachers. 

CANTELUPE is Opening out a little in spite of himself. 

CANTELUPE. I'm waiting for our opinions to differ. 

TREBELL. \Businesslike again.] I'll send you a draft of 
the statutes I propose, within a week. Meanwhile shall 
I put the offer this way: If I accept your tests will you 
accept mine? 

CANTELUPE. What are yours ? 

TREBELL. I bcHeve if one provides for efficiency one 
provides for the best part of truth . . honesty of state- 
ment. I shall hope for a little more elasticity in your dog- 
mas than Becket or Cranmer or Laud would have allowed. 
When you've a chance to re-formulate the reasons of your 
faith for the benefit of men teaching mathematics and sci- 



ACT ii] WASTE 59 

ence and history and political economy, you won't neglect 
to answer or allow for criticisms and doubts. I don't see 
why . . in spite of all the evidence to the contrary . . 
such a thing as progress in a definite religious faith is 
impossible. 

CANTELUPE. Progress is a soiled word. [And now he 
weighs his words.'] I shall be very glad to accept on the 
Church's behalf control of the teaching of teachers in 
these colleges. 

TREBELL. Good. I waut the best men. 

CANTELUPE. You are surprisingly inexperienced if you 
think that creeds can ever become mere forms except to 
those who have none. 

TREBELL. But teaching — true teaching — is learning, and 
the wish to know is going to prevail against any creed . . 
so I tKTnk. I wish you cared as little for the form in which 
a truth is told as I do. On the whole, you see, I think I 
shall manage to plant your theology in such soil this spring 
that the garden will be fruitful. On the whole, I'm a 
believer in Churches of all sorts and their usefulness to 
the State. Your present use is out-worn. Have I found 
you in this the beginnings of a new one? 

CANTELUPE. The Church says : Thank you, it is a very 
old one. 

TREBELL. [Winding up the interview.'] To' be sure, for 
practical politics our talk can be whittled down tO' your 
accepting the secular solution for Primary Schools, if 
you're given these colleges under such statutes as you and 
I shall agree upon. 

CANTELUPE. And the country will accept. 

TREBELL. The couutry will accept any measure if 
there's enough money in it to bribe all parties fairly. 

CANTELUPE. You cxpect Very little of the constancy of 
my Church to her faith, Mr. Trebell. 

TREBELL. I havc Only one belief myself. That is in 



60 WASTE [act II 

human progress — yes, progress — over many obstacles and 
by many means. I have no ideals. I believe it is states- 
manlike to use all the energy you find . . turning it into 
the nearest channel that points forward. 

CANTELUPE. Forward to what ? 

TREBELL. I don't kuow . . and my caring doesn't mat- 
ter. We do know . . and if we deny it it's only to be 
encouraged by contradiction . . that the movement is 
forward and with some gathering purpose. I'm friends 
with any fellow traveller. 

CANTELUPE has been considering him very curiously. 
Now he gets up to go. 

CANTELUPE. I shculd like to continue our talk when I've 
studied your draft of the statutes. Of course the political 
position is favourable to a far more comprehensive bill 
than we had ever looked for . . and you've the advantage 
now of having held yourself very free from party ties. In 
fact, not only will you give us the bill we shall most care 
to accept, but I don't know what other man would give us 
a bill we and the other side could accept at all. 

TREBELL. I Can let you have more Appropriation fig- 
ures by Friday. The details of the Fabrics scheme will 
take a little longer. 

CANTELUPE. In a way, there's no such hurry. We're 
not in office yet. 

TREBELL. When I'm building with figures I like to give 
the foundations time to settle. Otherwise they are the 
inexactest things. 

CANTELUPE. [Smiling to him for the first time.'] We 
shall have you finding Faith the only solvent of all prob- 
lems some day. 

TREBELL. I hope my mind is not afraid . . even of the 
Christian religion. 

CANTELUPE. I am sure that the needs of the human soul 



ACT n] WASTE 61 

. . be it dressed up in whatever knowledge . . do not alter 
from age to age . . 

He opens the door, to find wedgecroft standing out- 
side, watch in hand. 

Trebell. Hullo . . . waiting? 

WEDGECROFT. I was giving you two minutes by my watch. 
How are you, Cantelupe? 

CANTELUPE_, With a gestuve which might he mistaken 
for a how, folds himself up. 

TREBELL. Shall I bring you the figures on Friday . . 
that might save time. 

CANTELUPE,, hy taking a deeper fold in himself, 
seems to assent. 

TREBELL. Will the afternoon do ? Kent shall fix the hour. 

CANTELUPE. [With an effort.^ Kent? 

TREBELL. My Secretary. 

CANTELUPE. Friday. Any hour before five. I know 
my way. 

The three phrases having meant three separate ef- 
forts, CANTELUPE cscapcs. WEDGECROFT has Walked 
to the table, his brows a little puckered. Now tre- 
bell notices that Kent's door is open; he goes 
quickly into the room, and finds it empty. Then he 
stands for a moment irritable and undecided before 
returning. 

TREBELL. Been here long? 

WEDGECROFT. Five minutes . . more, I suppose. 

TREBELL. Mrs. O'Counell gone? 

WEDGECROFT. To her dressmaker's. 

TREBELL. Frances forgot she was coming, and went out. 

WEDGECROFT. Pretty little fool of a woman! D'you 
know her husband? 

TREBELL. No. 

WEDGECROFT. Says she's been in Ireland with him since 
we met at Shapters. He has trouble with his tenantry. 



6S WASTE [act II 

TREBELL. Woii't he Sell, or won't they purchase ? 
WEDGECROFT. Curious chap. A Don at Balliol when I 
first knew him. Warped of late years . . perhaps by his 
marriage. 

TREBELL. \_Dismissing that subject.'] Well . . how's 
Percival ? 

WEDGECROFT. Better this morning. I told him I'd seen 
you . . and in a little calculated burst of confidence what 
I'd reason to think you were after. He said you and he 
could get on though you differed on every point; but he 
didn't see how you'd pull with such a blasted weak-kneed 
lot as the rest of the Horsham's cabinet would be. He'll 
be up in a week or ten days. 
TREBELL. Can I see him? 

WEDGECROFT. You might. I admire the old man . . the 
way he sticks to his party, though they misrepresent now 
most things he believes in ! 

TREBELL. What a damnable state to arrive at . . doubly 
damned by the fact you admire it. 

WEDGECROFT. And to think that at this time of day you 
should need instructing in the ethics of party government. 
But I'll have to do it. 

TREBELL. Not uow. I'vc been at ethics with Cantelupe. 
WEDGECROFT. Certainly not now. What about my man 
with the stomach-ache at twelve o'clock sharp ! Good-bye. 
He is gone, trebell battles with uneasiness and 
at last mutters, '*0h . . why didn't she wait ?" Then 
the telephone bell rings. He goes quickly, as if it 
were an answer to his anxiety. "Yes ?" Of course 
it isn't . . "Yes." He paces the room, impatient, 
wondering what to do. The Maid comes in to an- 
nounce MISS DAVENPORT. LUCY follows her. She 
has gained lately perhaps a little of the joy which 
was lacking, and at least she brings now into this 
room a breath of very wholesome womanhood. 



ACT ii] WASTE 63 

LUCY. It's very good of you to let me come; I'm not 
going to keep you more than three minutes, 

TREBELL. Sit down. 

Only women unused to busy men would call him 
rude. 

LUCY. What I want to say is . . don't mind my being 
engaged to Walter. It shan't interfere with his work for 
you. If you want a proof that it shan't . . it was I got 
'Aunt Julia to ask you to take him . . Though he didn't 
know . . so don't tell him that. 

TREBELL. You Weren't engaged then. 

LUCY. I . . thought that we might be. 

TREBELL. [With cynical humour.'] Which I'm not to 
tell him, either? 

LUCY. Oh, that wouldn't matter. 

TREBELL. [With decisiou.'] I'll make sure you don't 
interfere. 

LUCY. [Deliberately . . not to he treated as a child."] 
You couldn't, you know, if I wanted to. 

TREBELL. Why, IS Walter a fool? 

LUCY. He's very fond of me, if that's what you mean. 
TREBELL looks at her for the first time, and changes 
his tone a little. 

TREBELL. If it was what I meant . . I'm disposed to 
withdraw the suggestion. 

LUCY. And because I'm fond of his work as well, I 
shan't, therefore, ask him to tell me things . . secrets. 

TREBELL. [Reverting to his humour.] It'll be when 
you're a year or two married that danger may occur . . in 
his desperate effort to make conversation. 

LUCY considers this and him quite seriously. 

LUCY. You're rather hard on women, aren't you . . 
just because they don't have the chances men do. 

TREBELL. Do you waut the chances? 



64 WASTE [act ii 

LUCY. I think I'm as clever as most men I meet, though 
I know less, of course. 

TREBELL. Perhaps I should have offered you the secre- 
taryship instead. 

LUCY. [Readily.^ Don't you think I'm taking it in a 
way . . by marrying Walter? That's fanciful, of course. 
But marriage is a very general and complete sort of part- 
nership, isn't it? At least, I'd like to make mine so. 

TREBELL. He'll be more under your thumb in some 
things if you leave him free in others. 

She receives the sarcasm in all seriousness, and then 
speaks to him as she would to a child. 

LUCY. Oh . . I'm not explaining what I mean quite 
well, perhaps. Walter has been everywhere and done 
everything. He speaks three languages . . which all 
makes him an ideal private secretary. 

TREBELL. QuitC. 

LUCY. Do you think he'd develop into anything else . . 
but for me? 

TREBELL. So I liavc provided just a first step, have I? 

LUCY. [With real enthusiasm.] Oh, Mr. Trebell, it's a 
great thing for us. There isn't anyone worth working 
under but you. You'll make him think and give him ideas 
instead of expecting them from him. But just for that 
reason he'd get so attached to you and be quite content to 
grow old in your shadow . . if it wasn't for me. 

TREBELL. Truc . . I should encourage him in nothing- 
ness. What's more, I want extra brains and hands. It's 
not altogether a pleasant thing, is it . . the selfishness of 
the hard worked man? 

LUCY. If you don't grudge your own strength, why 
should you be tender of other people's? 
He looks at her curiously. 

TREBELL. Y o u r ambition is making for only second- 
hand satisfaction, though. 



ACT n] WASTE 65 

LUCY. What's a woman to do ? She must work through 
men, mustn't she? 

TREBELL. I'm told that's degrading . . the influencing 
of husbands and brothers and sons. 

LUCY. [Only half humorously.^ But what else is one 
to do with them? Of course, I've enough money to live 
on . . so I could take up some woman's profession . , . 
What are you smiling at? 

TREBELL. \Who has smilcd very broadly. ^ As you don't 
mean to . . don't stop while I tell you. 

LUCY. But I'd sooner get married. I want to have 
children. [The words catch him and hold him. He looks 
at her reverently this time. She remembers she has trans- 
gressed convention; then, remembering that it is only con- 
vention, proceeds quite simply.'] I hope we shall have 
children. 

TREBELL. I hopC SO. 

LUCY. Thank you. That's the first kind thing you've 
said. 

TREBELL. Oh . . you can do without compliments, can't 
you? 

She considers for a moment. 

LUCY. Why have you been talking to me as if I were 
someone else? 

TREBELL. [Startled.'] Who else? 

LUCY. No one particular. But you've shaken a moral 
fist, so to speak. I don't think I provoked it. 

TREBELL. It's a bad parliamentary habit. I apologise. 
She gets up to go. 

LUCY. Now I shan't keep you longer . . you're always 
busy. You've been so easy to talk to. Thank you very 
much. 

TREBELL. Why . . I wouder ? 

LUCY. I knew you would be, or I shouldn't have come. 
You think Life's an important thing, don't you? That's 



66 WASTE [act ii 

priggish, isn't it? Good-bye. We're coming to dinner . , 
Aunt Julia and I. Miss Trebell arrived to ask us just as 
I left. 

TREBELL. I'll scc you down. 

LUCY. What waste of time for you. I know how the 
door opens. 

As she goes out Walter kent is on the way to his 
room. The two nod to each other like old friends. 
TREBELL tums away with something of a sigh. 
KENT. Just come? 
LUCY. Just going. 
KENT. I'll see you at dinner. 
LUCY. Oh, are you to be here ? . . that's nice. 

LUCY departs as purposefully as she came, kent 
hurries to trebell^ whose thoughts are away again 
by now. 
KENT. I haven't been long there and back, have I ? The 
Bishop gave me these letters for you. He hasn't answered 
the last . . but I've his notes of what he means to say. 
He'd like them back to-night. He was just going out. 
I've one or two notes of what Evans said. Bit of a char- 
latan, don't you think? 

TREBELL. EvaUS ? 

KENT. Well, he talked of his Flock. There are quite 
fifteen letters you'll have to deal with yourself, I'm afraid. 
TREBELL starcs at him; then, apparently making up 
his mind . . 
TREBELL. Ring Up a messenger, will you . . I must 
write a note and send it. 
KENT. Will you dictate? 

TREBELL. I shall have done it while you're ringing . . 
it's only a personal matter. Then we'll start work. 

KENT goes into his room and tackles the telephone 
there, trebell sits down to write the note, his face 
very set and anxious. 



ACT m] WASTE 67 



THE THIRD ACT 

AT LORD Horsham's house in Queen Anne's Gate, in the 
'evening, a week later. 

// rooms express their owners' character, the grey and 
black of LORD Horsham's drawing room, the faded 
brocade of its furniture, reveal him as a man of del- 
icate taste and somewhat thin intellectuality. He 
stands now before a noiseless fire, contemplating 
with a troubled eye either the pattern of the Old 
French carpet, or the black double doors of the libra- 
ry opposite, or the moulding on the Adams ceiling, 
which the flicker of all the candles casts into deeper 
relief. His grey hair and black clothes would melt 
into the decoration of his room, were the figure not 
rescued from such oblivion by the British white 
glaze of his shirt front and — to a sympathetic eye — 
by the lovable perceptive face of the man. Some- 
times he looks at the sofa in front of him, on which 
sits wedgecroft, still in the frock coat of a busy 
day, depressed and irritable. With his back to them, 
on a sofa with its back to them, is george farrant, 
planted with his knees apart, his hands clasped, his 
head bent; very glum. And sometimes horsham 
glances at the door, as if waiting for it to open. 
Then his gaze will travel back, up the long, shiny, 
black piano, with a volume of the Well Tempered 
Clavichord open on its desk, to where cantelupe 
is perched uncomfortably on the bench; paler than 



68 WASTE! [act in 

ever; more self-contained than ever, looking, to, one 
who knows him as well as horsham does, a little 
dangerous. So he returns to contemplation of the 
ceiling or the carpet. They wait there as men wait 
who have said all they want to say upon an unpleas- 
ant subject and yet cannot dismiss it. At last 
FARRANT breaks the silence, 

FARRANT. What time did you ask him to come, Horsham ? 

HORSHAM. Eh . . O'Connell? I didn't ask him direct- 
ly. What time did you say, Wedgecroft? 

WEDGECROFT. Ally time after half past ten, I told him. 

FARRANT. [Grumbling.^ It's a quarter to eleven. 
Doesn't Blackborough mean to turn up at all? 

HORSHAM, He was out of town . . my note had to be 
sent after him. I couldn't wire, you see. 

FARRANT. No. 

CANTELUPE. It was by the merest chance your man 
caught me, Cyril. I was taking the ten fifteen to Ton- 
bridge, and happened to go to James Street first for some 
papers. 

The conversation flags again. 

CANTELUPE. But sincc Mrs. O'Connell is dead what is 
the excuse for a scandal? 

At this unpleasant dig into the subject of their 
thoughts the three other men stir uncomfortably. 

HORSHAM. Because the inquest is unavoidable . . ap- 
parently. 

WEDGECROFT. ^Suddenly letting fly.l I declare I'd have 
risked penal servitude, and given a certificate, but just be- 
fore the end O'Connell would call in old Fielding Andrews, 
who has moral scruples about everything — it's his trade- 
mark — and of course about this . . ! 

FARRANT. Was he told of the whole business? 

WEDGECROFT. No . . O'Conuell kept things up before 
him. Well . . the woman was dying. 



ACT m] WASTE 69 

HORSHAM. Couldn't you have kept the true state of the 
case from Sir Fielding? 

WEDGECROFT. And been suspected of the malpractice 
myself if he'd found it out? . . which he would have done 
. . he's no fool. Well . . I thought of trying that . . . 

FARRANT. My dear Wedgecroft . . how grossly quix- 
otic ! You have a duty to yourself. 

HORSHAM. ^Rescuing the conversation from unpleas- 
antness.'] I'm afraid I feel that our position to-night is 
most irregular, Wedgecroft. 

WEDGECROFT. Still, if you can make O'Connell see rea- 
son. And if you all can't . . [He frowns at the alterna- 
tive.] 

CANTELUPE. Didn't you say she came to you first of all ? 

WEDGECROFT. I met her one morning at Trebell's. 

FARRANT. Actually a t Trebell's ? 

WEDGECROFT. The day he came back from abroad. 

FARRANT. Oh ! No One seems to have noticed them 
together much at any time. My wife . . . No matter ! 

WEDGECROFT. She tackled me as a doctor with one part 
of her trouble . . added she'd been with O'Connell in 
Ireland, which, of course, it turns out wasn't true . . asked 
me to help her. I had to say I couldn't. 

HORSHAM. ^Echoing rather than querying.] You 
couldn't. 

FARRANT. [^Shocked.] My dear Horsham ! 

WEDGECROFT. Well, if she'd told me the truth! . . No, 
anyhow I couldn't. I'm sure there was no excuse. One 
can't run these risks. 

FARRANT. Quitc right, quite right. 

WEDGECROFT. There are men who do on one pretext or 
another. 

FARRANT. \N ot too shocked to he curious.] Are there 
really. 

WEDGECROFT. Oh, yes, men well known . . in other di- 



70 WASTEi [act ra 

rections. I could give you four addresses . . but of 
course I wasn't going to give her one. Though there 
again . . if she'd told me the whole truth ! . . My God, 
women are such fools ! And they prefer quackery . . look 
at the decent doctors they simply turn into charlatans. 
Though, there again, that all comes of letting a trade work 
mysteriously under the thumb of a benighted oligarchy . . 
which is beside the question. But one day I'll make you sit 
up on the subject of the Medical Council, Horsham. 

HORSHAM assumes an impenetrable air of states- 
manship. 

HORSHAM. I know. Very interesting . . very impor- 
tant . . very difficult to alter the status quo. 

WEDGECROFT. Then the poor little liar said she'd go off 
to an appointment with her dressmaker ; and I heard noth- 
ing more till she sent for me a week later, and I found 
her almost too ill to speak. Even then she didn't tell me 
the truth ! So when O'Connell arrived, of course I spoke 
to him quite openly, and all he told me in reply was that it 
wouldn't have been his child. 

FARRANT. Poor dcvil ! 

WEDGECROFT. O'Connell ? 

FARRANT. YcS, of COUrSC. 

WEDGECROFT. I wondcr. Perhaps she didn't realize he'd 
been sent for . . or felt then she was dying, and didn't 
care . . or lost her head. I don't know. 

FARRANT. Such a pretty little woman ! 

WEDGECROFT. If I could havc made him out, and dealt 
with him, of course I shouldn't have come to you. Far- 
rant's known him even longer than I have. 

FARRANT. I was with him at Harrow. 

WEDGECROFT. So I wcnt to Farraut first. 

That part of the subject drops, cantelupe^ who 
has not moved, strikes in again. 

CANTEiLUPE. How was Trcbell's guilt discovered? 



ACT m] WASTE Tl 

FARRANT. He wrote her one letter which she didn't 
destroy. O'Connell found it. 

WEDGECROFT. Picked it up from her desk . , it wasn't 
even locked up. 

FARRANT. Not twcnty words in it . . quite enough, 
though. 

HORSHAM. His habit of being expHcit . . of writing 
things down . . I know ! 

He shakes his head, deprecating all rashness. There 
is another pause, farrant^ getting up to pace 
about, breaks it. 

FARRANT. Look here, Wedgecroft, one thing is worry- 
ing me. Had Trebell any foreknowledge of what she did 
and the risk she was running, and could he have stopped it? 

WEDGECROFT. \_Almost ill-tempercdly.'] How could he 
have stopped it? 

FARRANT. Becausc . . well, I'm not a casuist . . but I 
know by instinct when I'm up against the wrong thing to 
do; and if he can't be cleared on that point I won't lift a 
finger to save him. 

HORSHAM. [With nice judgment.'] In using the term 
Any Foreknowledge, Farrant, you may be more severe on 
him than you wish to be. 

FARRANT, unappreciativc, continues. 

FARRANT. Otherwise . . well, we must admit, Cante- 
lupe, that if it hadn't been for the particular consequence 
of this it wouldn't be anything to be so mightily shocked 
about. 

CANTELUPE. I disagree. 

FARRANT. My dear fellow, it's our business to make 
laws, and we know the difference of saying in one of 'em 
you m a y or you must. Who ever proposed to insist on 
pillorying every case of spasmodic adultery? One would 
never have done! Some of these attachments do more 
harm . . to the third party, I mean . . some less. But it's 



72 WASTE [act III 

only when a menage becomes socially impossible that a 
sensible man will interfere. \^He adds, quite unnecessa- 
rily.^ I'm speaking quite impersonally, of course. 

CANTELUPE. [As coldly as ever.'] Trebell is morally 
responsible for every consequence of the original sin. 

WEDGECROFT. That is a hard saying. 

FARRANT. [Continuing his own remarks quite independ- 
ently.] And I put aside the possibility that he deliberately 
helped her to her death to save a scandal, because I don't 
believe it is a possibility. But if that were so I'd lift my 
finger to help him to his. I'd see him hanged with pleasure. 

WEDGECROFT. [Settling this part of the matter.] Well, 
Farrant, to all intents and purposes he didn't know, and 
he'd have stopped it if he could. 

FARRANT. Ycs, I believc that. But what makes you so 
sure? 

WEDGECROFT. I asked him, and he told me. 

FARRANT. That's no proof. 

WEDGECROFT. You read the letter that he sent her . . 
unless you think it was written as a blind. 

FARRANT. Oh . . to be sure . . yes. I might have 
thought of that. 

He settles down again. Again no one has anything 
to say. 

CANTELUPE. What is to be said to Mr. O'Connell when 
he comes? 

HORSHAM. Yes . . what exactly do you propose we 
shall say to O'Connell, Wedgecroft? 

WEDGECROFT. Get him to open his oyster of a mind, 
and . . . 

FARRANT. So it is, and his face like a stone wall yester- 
day. Absolutely refused to discuss the matter with me ! 

CANTELUPE. May I ask, Cyril, why are we concerning 
ourselves with this wickedness at all? 



ACT m] WASTE 73 

HORSHAM. Just at this moment, when we have official 
weight without official responsibility, Charles . , 

WEDGECROFT. I wish I could have let Percival out of 
bed, but these first touches of autumn are dangerous to a 
convalescent of his age. 

-HORSHAM. But you saw him, Farrant . . and he gave 
you his opinion, didn't he? 

FARRANT. Last night . . yes. 

HORSHAM. I suppose it's a pity Blackborough hasn't 
turned up. 

FARRANT. Nevcr mind him. 

HORSHAM. He gets people to agree with him. That's 
a gift. 

FARRANT. Wedgccroft, what is the utmost O'Connell 
will be called upon to do for us . . for Trebell? 

WEDGECROFT. Probably only to hold his tongue at the 
inquest to-morrow. As far as I know, there's no one but 
her maid to prove that Mrs. O'Connell didn't meet her 
husband some time in the summer. He'll be called upon 
to tell a lie or two by implication. 

FARRANT. Cautelupc . . what does perjury to that ex- 
tent mean to a Roman Catholic? 

cantelupe's face melts into an expression of mild 
amasement. 

CANTELUPE. Your asking such a question shows that 
you would not understand my answer to it. 

FARRANT. [^Leaving the fellow to his subtleties.'] Well, 
what about the maid? 

WEDGECROFT. She may suspect facts but not names, I 
think. Why should they question her on such a point if 
O'Connell says nothing? 

HORSHAM. He's really very late. I told . . IHe stops.] 
Charles, I've forgotten that man's name again. 

CANTELUPE. Edmunds you said it was. 

HORSHAM. Edmunds. Everybody's down at Lympne . . 



74 WASTE [act m 

IVe been left with a new man here, and I don't know his 
name. [He is very pathetic.^ I told him to put O'Connell 
in the library there. I thought that either Farrant or I 

might perhaps see him first and 

At this moment edmunds comes in, and, with that 
air of discreet tact which he considers befits the es- 
tablishment of a Prime Minister, announces, "Mr. 
O'Connell, my lord." As o'connell follows him, 
HORSHAM can only try not to look too disconcerted. 
o^coNNELL^ in his tightly buttoned frock coat, with 
his shaven face and close-cropped iron grey hair, 
might be mistaken for a Catholic priest; except that 
he has not also acquired the easy cheerfulness which 
professional familiarity with the mysteries of that 
religion seems to give. For the moment, at least, his 
features are so impassive that they may tell either of 
the deepest grief or the purest indifference; or it 
may be, merely of reticence on entering a stranger's 
room. He only bows towards horsham'^- half- 
proffered hand. With instinctive respect for the sit- 
uation of this tragically made widower the men 
have risen, and stand in various uneasy attitudes. 
HORSHAM. Oh . . how do you do? Let me see . . do 
you know my cousin, Charles Cantelupe ? Yes . . we were 
expecting Russell Blackborough. Sir Henry Percival is 
ill. Do sit down. 

o'coNNELL takes the nearest chair, and gradually the 
others settle themselves, farrant seeking an obscure 
corner. But there follows an uncomfortable silence, 
which o'coNNELL at last breaks. 
o'coNNELL. You havc sent for me, Lord Horsham? 
HORSHAM. I hope that by my message I conveyed no 
impression of sending for you. 

o^coNNELL. I am always in some doubt as to by what 
person or persons in or out of power this country is gov- 



ACT in] WASTE 75 

erned, but from all I hear 3^011 are at the present moment 
approximately entitled to send for me. 

The level music of Ms Irish tongue seems to giz'e 
finer edge to his sarcasm. 

HORSHAM. Well, Mr. O'Connell . . you know our re- 
quest before we make it. 

o^'coNNELL. Yes, I Understand that if the fact of Mr. 
TrebelFs adultery with my wife were made as public as its 
consequences to her must be to-morrow, public opinion 
would make it difficuli; for you to include him in your 
cabinet. 

HORSHAAi. Therefore we ask you . . though we have 
no right to ask you . . to consider the particular circum- 
stances, and forget the man in the statesm.an, Mr. O'Con- 
nell. 

o'coNNELL. My wife is dead. What have I to do at all 
with Mr. Trebell as a man? As a statesman I am, in any 
case, uninterested in him. 

Upon this throwing of cold water, edmunds returns 
to mention, even more discreetly . . . 

EDMUNDS. Mr. Blackborough is in the library, my lord. 

HORSHAM. [Patiently impatient.'] No, no . . here. 

WEDGECROFT. Let me go. 

HORSHAM. [To the injured edmunds.] Wait . . wait ! 

WEDGECROFT. I'll put him au fait. I shan't come back. 

HORSHAM. [Gratefully.'] Yes, yes. [Then to edmunds, 
who is waiting, with perfect dignity.] Yes . . yes . . yes. 
EDMUNDS departs, and wedgecroft makes for the 
library door, glad to escape. 

o^connell. If you are not busy at this hour, Wedge- 
croft, I should be grateful if you'd wait for me. I shall 
keep you, I think, but a very few minutes. 

WEDGECROFT. [In Ms most matter-of-fact tone.] All 
right, O'Connell. 

He goes into the library. 



76 WASTE [act hi 

CANTELUPE. Dcn't you think, Cyril, it would be wiser 
to prevent your man coming into the room at all while 
we're discussing this? 

HORSHAM. ^Collecting his scattered tact.'] Yes, I 
thought I had arranged that he shouldn't. I'm very sorry. 
He's a fool. However, there's no one else to come. Once 
more, Mr. O'Connell . . \_He frames no sentence.'] 

o'coNNELL. I am all attention. Lord Horsham. 

CANTELUPE^ zi'itli a sclf-dcnying effort, has risen to 
his feet. 

CANTELUPE. Mr. O'Conncll, I remain here almost 
against my will. I cannot think quite calmly about this 
double and doubly heinous sin. Don't listen to us while we 
make light of it. If we think of it as a political bother 
and ask you to smooth it away . . I am ashamed. But I 
believe I may not be wrong if I put it to you, that, looking 
to the future, and for the sake of your own Christian dig- 
nity, it may become you to be merciful. And I pray, too 
. . I think we may believe . . that Mr. Trebell is feeling 
need of your forgiveness. I have no more to say. \He 
sits down again.] 

o'coNNELL. It may be. I have never met Mr. Trebell. 

HORSHAM. I tell you, Mr. O'Connell, putting aside 
Party, that your country has need of this man just at this 
time. 

They hang upon o'connell^s reply. It comes with 
deliberation. 

o'connell. I suppose my point of view must be an un- 
usual one. I notice, at least, that twenty-four hours and 
more has not enabled Farrant to grasp it. 

FARRANT. For God's sake, O'Connell, don't be so cold- 
blooded. You have the life or death of a man's reputa- 
tion to decide on. 

o'coNNELL. [With a cold flash of contempt.] That's a 
petty enough thing now-a-days, it seems to me. There are 



ACT m] WASTE 77 

so many clever men . . and they are all so alike . . surely 
one will not be missed. 

CANTELUPE. Don't you think that is only sarcasm, Mr. 
O'Connell? 

The voice is so gently reproving that o'connell 
must turn to him. 
o'coNNELL. Will you please to make allowance, Lord 
Charles, for a mediaeval scholar's contempt of modern 
government ? Y o u, at least, will partly understand his 
fiorror as a Catholic at the modern superstitions in favour 
of popular opinion and control which it encourages. You 
see, Lord Horsham, I am not a party man, only a little less 
enthusiastic for the opposite cries than for his own. You 
appealed very strangely to my feelings of patriotism for 
this country; but you see even my own is — in the twenti- 
eth century — foreign to me. From my point of view, 
neither Mr. Trebell, nor you, nor the men you have just 
defeated, nor any discoverable man or body of men will 
make laws which matter . . or differ in the slightest. You 
are all part of your age, and you all voice — though in sep- 
arate keys, or even tunes they may be — only the greed and 
follies of your age. That you should do this, and nothing 
more, is, of course, the democratic ideal. You will forgive 
my thinking tenderly of the statesmanship of the first 
Edward. 

The library door opens, and russell blackborough 
comes in. He has on evening clothes, complicated 
by a long silk comforter and the motoring cap 
which he carries. 
HORSHAM. You know Russell Blackborough. 
o'coNNELL. I think not. 
BLACKBOROUGH. How d'you do ? 

o'coNNELL having bowed, blackborough having 
nodded, the two men sit down, blackborough with 



78 WASTE [act iii 

an air of great attention, o''connell to continue his 
interrupted speech. 

o'coNNELL. And you are as far from me in your code of 
personal morals as in your politics. In neither do you seem 
to realise that such a thing as passion can exist. No doubt 
you use the words Love and Hatred ; but do you know that 
love and hatred for principles or persons should come from 
beyond a man? I notice you speak of forgiveness as if it 
were a penny in my pocket. You have been endeavouring 
for these two days to rouse me from my indifference to- 
wards Mr. Trebell. Perhaps you are on the point of suc- 
ceeding . . but I do not know what you may rouse. 

HORSHAM. I understand. We are much in agreement, 
Mr. O'Connell. What can a man be — who has any pre- 
tensions to philosophy — but helplessly indifferent to the 
thousands of his fellow creatures whose fates are inter- 
twined with his? 

o^coNNELL. I am glad that you understand. But, again 
. . have I been wrong to shrink from personal relations 
with Mr. Trebell? Hatred is as sacred a responsibility as 
love. And you Vv^ill not agree with me when I say that 
punishment can be the salvation of a man's soul. 

FARRANT. \With aggressivc common sense. '\ Look here, 
O'Connell, if you're indifferent, it doesn't hurt you to let 
him off. And if you hate him . . ! Well, one shouldn't 
hate people . . there's no room for it in this world. 

CANTELUPE. [Quictly as ever.'] We have some author- 
ity for thinking that the punishment of a secret sin is 
awarded by God secretly. 

o'coNNELL. We have very poor authority, sir, for using 
God's name merely to fill up the gaps in an argument, 
though we may thus have our way easily with men who 
fear God more than they know Him. I am not one of those. 
Yes, Farrant, you and your like have left little room in 
this world except for the dusty roads on which I notice 



ACT in] WASTE 79 

you beginning once more to travel. The rule of them is 
the same for all, is it not . . from the tramp and the la- 
bourer to the plutocrat in his car? This is the age of 
equality; and it's a fine, practical equality . . the equality 
of the road. But you've fenced the fields of human joy 
and turned the very hillsides into hoardings. Commercial 
opportunity is painted on them, I think. 

FARRANT. \_Not to be impressed.'] Perhaps it is, O'Con- 
nell. My father made his money out of newspapers, and I 
ride in a motor car, and you came from Holyhead by train. 
What has all that to do with it? Why can't you make up 
your mind? You know in this sort of case one talks a lot 
. . and then does the usual thing. You must let Trebell 
off, and that's all about it. 

o'coNNELL. Indeed. And do they still think it worth 
while to administer an oath to your witnesses? 

He is interrupted by the flinging open of the door 

and the triumphant right-this-fime-anyhow voice in 

which EDMUNDS announccs "Mr. Trebell, my lord." 

The general consternation expresses itself through 

HORSHAM^ who complains aloud and unreservedly. 

HORSHAM. Good God . . No ! Charles, I must give 

him notice at once . . he'll have to go. [He apologises to 

the company.] I beg your pardon. 

By this time trebell is in the room, and has discov- 
ered the stranger, who stands to face him, without 
emotion or anger, blackborough^s face wears the 
grimmest of smiles, cantelupe is sorry, farrant 
recovers from the fit of choking which seemed im- 
minent, and EDMUNDS, dimly perceiving by now some 
fly in the perfect amber of his conduct, departs. 
The two men still face each other, farrant is pre- 
pared to separate them should they come to blows, 
and indeed is advancing in that anticipation when 
o'connell speaks. 



80 WASTE [act iii 

o'coNNELL. I am Justin O'Connell. 

TREBELL. I gUCSS that. 

o'coNNELL. There's a dead woman between us, Mr. 
Trebell. 

A tremor sweeps over trebell; then he speaks 
simply. 

trebell. I wish she had not died. 

o'coNNELL. I am called upon by your friends to save 
you from the consequences of her death. What have you 
to say about that? 

trebell. I have been wondering what sort of expres- 
sion the last of your care for her would find . . but not 
much. My wonder is at the power over me that has been 
given to something I despised. 

Only o'coNNELL grasps his meaning. But he, stirred 
for the first time, and to his very depths, drives it 
home. 

o'coNNELL. Yes . . If I wanted revenge, I have it. She 
was a worthless woman. First my life and now yours ! 
Dead because she was afraid to bear your child, isn't she? 

TREBELL. [/w ogony.'] I'd have helped that if I could. 

o'coNNELL. Not the shame . . not the wrong she had 
done me . . but just fear — fear of the burden of her wom- 
anhood. And because of her my children are bastards, 
and cannot inherit my name. And I must live in sin 
against my Church, as — God help me — I can't against my 
nature. What are men to do when this is how women 
use the freedom we have given them? Is the curse of 
barrenness to be nothing to a man? And that's the death 
in life to which you gentlemen, with your fine civilisation, 
are bringing us. I think we are brothers in misfortune, 
Mr. Trebell. 

TREBELL. [Far from responding.'] Not at all, sir. If 
you wanted children, you did the next best thing when she 
left you. My own problem is neither so simple, nor is it 



ACT III] WASTE 81 

yet anyone's business but my own. I apologise for allud- 
ing to it. 

HORSHAM takes advantage of the silence that fol- 
lows. 

HORSHAM. Shall we . . 

o'coNNELL. {^Measuring trebell with his eyes.'] And 
by which shall I help you to a solution . . telling lies or 
the truth to-morrow? 

, TREBELL. [Roughly, almost insolently.] If you want my 
advice . . I should do the thing that comes more easily to 
you, or that will content you most. If you haven't yet 
made up your mind as to the relative importance of my 
work and your conscience, it's too late to begin now. 
Nothing you may do can affect m e. 

HORSHAM. [Fluttering fearfully into this strange dis- 
pute.] O'Connell . . if you and I were to join Wedge- 
croft . . 

o'coNNELL. You valuc your work more than anything 
else in the world? 

TREBELL. Havc I anything else in the world? 

o'coNNELL. Have you not? [With grim ambiguity.] 
Then I am sorry for you, Mr. Trebell. [Having said all 
he had to say, he notices horsham.] Yes, Lord Horsham, 
by all means . . 

Then horsham opens the library door and sees him 
safely through. He passes trebell without any sal- 
utation, nor does trebell turn after him; but when 
horsham also is in the library, and the door is 
closed, comments viciously. 

TREBELL. The mau's a sentimentalist . . like all men 
who live alone or shut away. [Then surveying his three 
glum companions, bursts out.] Well . . ? We can stop 
thinking of this dead woman, can't we? It's a waste 
of time. 

farrant. Trebell, what did you want to come here for ? 



82 ¥/ASTE [act hi 

TREBELL. Bccausc you thought I wouldn't. I knew 
you'd be sitting round, incompetent with distress, calcu- 
lating to a nicety the force of a scandal . . 

BLACKBOROUGH. [With the firmest of touches.'] Hor- 
sham has called some of us here to discuss the situation. 
I am considering my opinion. 

TREBELL. You are not, Blackborough. You haven't re- 
covered yet from the shock of your manly feelings. Oh, 
cheer up. You know we're an adulterous and sterile gen- 
eration. Why should you cry out at a proof now and then 
of what's always in the hearts of most of us? 

FARRANT. [Plaintively .^ Now, for God's sake, Trebell 
. . O'Connell has been going on like that. 

TREBELL. Well, then . . think of what matters. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Of you and your reputation in fact. 

FARRANT. \_Kindly.'] Why do you pretend to be callous ? 
He strokes trebell''s shoulder, who shakes him off 
impatiently. 

TREBELL. Do you all mean to out-face the British Lion 
with me after to-morrow . . dare to be Daniels*? 

BLACKBOROUGH. Bravado won't carry this off. 

TREBELL. Blackborough . . it would immortalise you. 
I'll stand up in my place in the House of Commons and tell 
everything that has befallen, soberly and seriously. Why 
should I flinch? 

FARRANT. My dear Trebell, if your name comes out at 
the inquest 

TREBELL. If it docs ! . . whosc has been the real offence 
against Society . . hers or mine? It's I who am most 
offended . . if I choose to think so. 

BLACKBOROUGH. You Seem to forget the adultery. 

TREBELL. Isu't Death divorce enough for her? And . . 
oh, wasn't I right? . . What do you start thinking of once 
the shock's over? Punishment . , revenge . . uselessness 
. . waste of me, 



ACT m] WASTE 83 

FARRANT. [With finality.'] If your name comes out at 
the inquest, to talk of anything but retirement from pubHc 
life is perfect lunacy . . and you know it. 

HORSHAM comes back from the passage. He is a 
little distracted; then the more so at finding himself 
again in a highly-charged atmosphere. 
HORSHAM. He's gone off with Wedgecroft. 
TREBELL. [Including horsham now in his appeal.] Does 
anyone think he knows me now to be a worse man . . ks* 
fit, less able . . than he did a week ago? 

From the piano-stodl comes cantelupe's quiet voice. 
CANTELUPE. Ycs, Trebcll . . I do. 

TREBELL whccls round at this, and ceases all bluster. 
TREBELL. On what grounds ? 
CANTELUPE. Unarguable ones. 

HORSHAM. [Finding refuge again in his ma'ntelpiece.] 
You know, he has gone off without giving me his promise. 
FARRANT. That's your own fault, Trebell. 
HORSHAM. The fool says I didn't give him explicit 
instructions. 

FARRANT. What f Ool ? 

HORSHAM. That man . . [The name fails him.] . . my 
new man. One of those touches of Fate's little finger, 
really. 

He begins to consult the ceiling and the carpet once 
more, trebell tackles cantelupe with gravity. 

TREBELL. I havc ouly a logical mind, Cantelupe. I know 
that to make myself a capable man Fve purged myself of 
all the sins . . I never was idle enough to commit. I know- 
that if your God didn't make use of men, sins and all . . 
what would ever be done in the world? That one natural 
action, which the slight shifting of a social law could have 
made as negligible as eating a meal, can make me incap- 
able . . takes the linch-pin out of one's brain, doesn't it? 

HORSHAM. Trebell, we've been doing our best to get 



84 WASTE [act hi 

you out of this ifhess.' Your remarks to O'Connell weren't 
of any assistance, and . . 

CANTELUPE stands Up, SO momefifously that Hor- 
sham's gentle flow of speech dries up. 

CANTELUPE. Perhaps I had better say at once that, 
whatever hushing up you may succeed in, it will be impos- 
sible for me to sit in a cabinet with Mr. Trebell. 

It takes even farrant a good half minute to recover 
his power of speech on this new issue. 

farrant. What perfect nonsense, Cantelupe ! I hope 
you don't mean that. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Complication number one, Horsham. 

farrant. [Working up his protest.'] Why on earth 
not? You really mustn't drag your personal feelings and 
prejudices into important matters like this . . matters of 
state. 

CANTELUPE. I think I have no choice, when Trebell 
stands convicted of a mortal sin, of which he has not even 
repented. 

TREBELL. [With bitterest cynicism.'] Dictate any form 
of repentance you like . . my signature is yours. 

CANTELUPE. Is tliis 3. matter for intellectual jugglery? 

TREBELL. [His defence failing at last.] I offered to 
face the scandal from my place in the House. That was 
mad, wasn't it? 

BLACKBOROUGH — his coursc mapped out — changes 
the tone of the discussion. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Horsham, I hope Trebell will believe I 
have no personal feelings in this matter, but we may ^s 
well face the fact even now that O'Connell holding his 
tongue to-morrow won't stop goss.ip in the House, club 
gossip, gossip in drawing rooms. What do the Radicals 
really care so long as a scandal doesn't get into the papers ! 
There's an inner circle with its eye on us. 

FARRANT. Well, what does that care as long as scandars 



ACT III] WASTE 85 

its own copyright ? Do you know, my dear father refused 
a peerage because he felt it meant putting blinkers on his 
best newspaper. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [A little sitbtly.^ Still . . now you and 
Horsham are cousins, aren't you ? 

l!"ARRANT. [Off the track, and explanatory.'] No, no . . 
my wife's mother . . . 

BLACKBOROUGH. I'm inaccurate, for I'm not one of the 
family circle myself. My money gets me here, and any 
skill I've used in making it. It wouldn't keep me at a 
pinch. And Trebell . . [he speaks through his teeth'] . . 
do you think your accession to power in the party is popu- 
lar at the best ? Who is going to put out a finger to make 
it less awkward for Horsham to stick to you if there's a 
chance of your going under? 

TREBELL smilcs at some mental picture he is making. 

TREBELL. Can your cousins and aunts make it so awk- 
ward for you, Horsham? 

HORSHAM. [Repaying humour with humour.] I bear 
up against their affectionate intentions. 

TREBELL. But I quite understand how uncongenial I 
may be. What made you take up with me at all? 

FARRANT. Your braius, Trebell. 

TREBELL. He should have enquired into my character 
first, shouldn't he, Cantelupe? 

CANTELUPE. [With crushing sincerity.] Yes. 

TREBELL. Oh, the old unnecessary choice . . Wisdom or 
Virtue. We all think we must make it . . and we all dis- 
cover we can't. But if you've to choose between Cantelupe 
and me, Horsham, I quite see you've no choice. 

HORSHAM now takcs the field, using his own 
weapons. 

HORSHAM. Charles, it seems to me that we are some- 
what in the position of men who have overheard a private 



86 WASTE! [Act m 

conversation. Do you feel justified in making public use 
of it? 

CANTELUPE. It is not I who am judge. God knows I 
would not sit in judgment upon anyone. 

TREBELL. Cautclupe, I'll take your personal judgment, 
if you can give it me. 

FARRANT. Good Lord, Cantelupe, didn't you sit in a 
cabinet with . . Well, we're not here to rake up old scan- 
dals. 

BLACKBOROUGH. I am conccmed with the practical issue. 

HORSHAM. We know, Blackborough. [Having quelled 
the interruption, he proceeds.'] Charles, you spoke, I think, 
of a mortal sin. 

CANTELUPE. In Spite of your lifted eyebrows at the 
childishness of the word. 

HORSHAM. Theoretically, we must all wish to guide 
ourselves by eternal truths. But you would admit, wouldn't 
you, that we can only deal with temporal things? 

CANTELUPE. [Writhing slightly under the sceptical 
cross-examination.'] There are divine laws laid down for 
our guidance . . I admit no disbehef in them. 

HORSHAM. Do they place any time-limit to the effect of 
a mortal sin? If this affair were twenty years old would 
you do as you are doing? Can you forecast the opinion 
you will have of it six months hence? 

CANTELUPE. [Positively.] Yes. 

HORSHAM. Can you? Nevertheless, I wish you had 
postponed your decision even till to-morrow. 

Having made his point he looks round almost for 
approval. 

BLACKBOROUGH. What had Percival to say on the sub- 
ject, Farrant? 

FARRANT. I was Only to make use of his opinion under 
certain circumstances. 



ACT ra] WASTE B7 

BLACKBOROUGH. So it isn't favourable to your remain- 
ing with us, Mr. Trebell. 

FARRANT. [^Indignantly emerging from the trapJ] I 
never said that. 

Now TREBELL gtves the matter another turn, very 
forcefully. 

TREBELL. Hors'nam . . I don't bow politely and stand 
aside at this juncture, as a gentleman should, because I 
want to know how the work's to be done if I leave you 
what I was to do. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Are wc SO incompetent? 

TREBELL. I daresay not. I want to know . . that's all, 

CANTELUPE. Please understand, Mr. Trebell, that I have 
in no way altered my good opinion of your proposals. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Well, I beg to remind you, Horsham, 
that from the first I've reserved myself liberty to criticise 
fundamental points in the scheme. 

HORSHAM. [Pacifically.'] Quite so. 

BLACKBOROUGH. That noHscnsical new standard of 
teachers' salaries, for one thing . . you'd never pass it. 

HORSHAM. Quite easily. It's an administrative point, 
so leave the legislation vague. Then, as the appropriation 
money falls in, the qualifications rise and the salaries rise. 
No one will object, because no one will appreciate it but 
administrators, past or future . . and they never cavil at 
money. THg remains lost in the beauty of this prospect."] 

TREBELL. Will you take charge of the bill, Blackbor- 
ough? 

BLACKBOROUGH. Are you serious? 

HORSHAM. [Brought to earth.] Oh, no ! [He corrects 
himself, smiling.] I mean, my dear Blackborough, why 
not stick to the colonies? 

BLACKBOROUGH. You See, Trebell, there's still the pos- 
sibility that O'Connell may finally spike your gun to- 
morrow. You realise that, don't you? 



88 WASTE [act hi 

TREBELL. Thank you. I quite realise that. 

CANTELUPE. Can nothing further be done? 

BLACKBOROUGH. Weren't we doing- our best? 

HORSHAM. Yes . . if we were bending our thoughts to 
that difficulty now . . . 

TREBELL. [Hardly.'] May I ask you to interfere on my 
behalf no further? 

FARRANT. My dear Trebell ! 

TREBELL. I assure you that I am interested in the 
Disestablishment Bill. 

So they turn readily enough from the more uncom- 
fortable part of their subject. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Well . . here's Farrant. 

FARRANT, I'm no good. Give me agriculture. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Pity you're in the Lords, Horsham. 

TREBELL. Horsham, I'll devil for any man you choose 
to name . . feed him sentence by sentence. . . 

HORSHAM. That's impossible. 

TREBELL. Well, what's to bccomc of my bill ? I want to 
know. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Casting his care on Providence.'] We 
shall manage somehow. Why, if you had died suddenly . . 
or, let us say, never been born . . . 

TREBELL. Then, Blackborough . . speaking as a dying 
man . . if you go back on the integrity of this scheme, 
I'll haunt you. [Having said this, with some finality, he 
turns his back.] 

CANTELUPE. Cyril, I agree with what Trebell is saying. 
Whatever happens, there must be no tampering with the 
comprehensiveness of the scheme. Remember you are in 
the hands of the extremists . . on both sides. I won't sup- 
port a compromise on one . . nor will they on the other. 

HORSHAM. Well, I'll confess to you candidly, Trebell, 
that I don't know of any man available for this piece of 
work but you. 



ACT m] WASTE 89 

TREBELL. Then I should say it would be almost a relief 
to you if O'Connell tells on me to-morrow. 

FARRANT. We Seem to have got off that subject alto- 
gether. [There comes a portentous tap at the door. J 
Good Lord ! . . I'm getting jumpy. 
HORSHAM. Excuse me. 

A note is handed to him through the half opened 
door; and obviously it is at edmunds whom he 
frowns. Then he returns, fidgetting for his glasses. 
Oh, it turns out . . I'm so sorry you were blundered in 
here, Trebell . . this man . . what's his name . . Edwards 
. . had been reading the papers, and thought it was a cabi- 
net council . . seemed proud of himself. This is from 
Wedgecroft . . scribbled in a messenger office. I never 
can read his writing . . it's like prescriptions. Can you? 
It has gradually dawned on the three men, and then 
on trebell_, what this note may have in it. far- 
RANT^s hand even trembles a little as he takes it. He 
gathers the meaning himself and looks at the others 
with a smile before he reads the few words aloud. 
FARRANT. "All right. He has promised." 

BLACKBOROUGH. O'Conncll ? 

FARRANT. Thank God. [He turns enthusiastically to 
trebell, tvho stands rigid. '\ My dear fellow . . I hope 
you know how glad I am. 
CANTELUPE. I am very glad. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Of coursc wc'rc all very glad indeed, 
Trebell . . very glad we persuaded him. 

FARRANT. That's dead and buried now, isn't it? 

TREBELL movcs away from them all, and leaves them 
wondering. When he turns round, his face is as 
hard as ever; his voice, if possible, harder. 
TREBELL. But, Horsham, returning to the more impor- 
tant question . . you've taken trouble, and O'Connell's to 
perjure himself, for nothing, if you still can't get me into 



90 WASTE [act m 

your child^s puzzle . . to make the pretty picture that a 
cabinet should be. 

HORSHAM looks at BLACKBOROUGH and scents danger. 

HORSHAM. We shall all be glad, I am sure, to postpone 
any further discussion . . . 

TREBELL. I shall not. 

BLACKBOROUGH. \_Encouragingly.'] Quite so, Trebell. 
We're on the subject, and it won't discount our pleasure 
that you're out of this mess to continue it. This habit of 
putting off the hour of disagreement is . . well, Horsham, 
it's contrary to my business instincts. 

TREBELL. If oue time's as good as another for you . . 
this moment is better than most for me. 

HORSHAM. [/4 little irritated at the wantonness of this 
dispute.'] There is nothing before us on which we are 
capable of coming to any decision . . in a technical sense. 

BLACKBOROUGH. That's a quibble. [Poor horsham 
gasps.] I'm not going to pretend, either now or in a 
month's time, that I think Trebell anything but a most 
dangerous acquisition to the party. I pay you a compli- 
ment in that, Trebell. Now, Horsham proposes that we 
should go to the country when Disestablishment's through. 

HORSHAM. It's the condition of Nonconformist support. 

BLACKBOROUGH. One coudition. Then you'd leave us, 
Trebell? 

HORSHAM. I hope not. 

BLACKBOROUGH. And Carry with you the credit of our 
one big measure. Consider the effect upon our reputation 
with the Country. 

FARRANT. [Waking to blackborough's line of action.] 
Why on earth should you leave us, Trebell? You've 
hardly been a Liberal, even in name. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Vigorously making his point.] Then 
what would be the conditions of your remaining? You're 
not a party man, Trebell. You haven't the true party feel- 



ACT m] WASTE 91 

ing. You are to be bought. Of course you take your price 
in measures, not in money. But you are preeminently a 
man of ideas . . an expert. And a man of ideas is often 
a grave embarrassment to a government. 

HORSHAM. And vice-versa . . vice-versa ! 

TREBELL. {^Facing blackborough across the room.'] 
Do I understand that you, for the good of the Tory party 
. . just as Cantelupe for the good of his soul . . will re- 
fuse to sit in a cabinet with me? 

BLACKBOROUGH. {Uiiemharrassed.'] I don't commit my- 
self to saying that. 

CANTELUPE. No , Trcbell . . it's that I must believe 
your work could not prosper . . in God's way. 
TREBELL softens to his sincerity. 

TREBELL. Cantclupc, I quite understand. You may be 
right . . it's a very interesting question, Blackborough, 
I take it that you object, first of all, to the scheme that I'm 
bringing you. 

BLACKBOROUGH. I objcct to thosc parts of it which I 
don't think you'll get through the House. 

FARRANT. [Feeling that he must take part.] For in- 
stance ? 

BLACKBOROUGH. I've givcn you one already. 

CANTELUPE. [^Hts cyc 01% BLACKBOROUGH.] Understand, 
there are things in that scheme v/e must stand or fall by. 

Suddenly trebell makes for the door, horsham 
gets up concernedly. 

TREBELL. Horsham, make up your mind to-night wheth- 
er you can do with me or not. I have to see Percival 
again to-morrow . . we cut short our argument at the 
important point. Good-bye . . don't come down. Will 
you decide to-night? 

HORSHAM. I have made up my own mind. 

TREBELL. Is that Sufficient? 



9S WASTE! [act m 

HORSHAM. A collective decision is a matter of develop- 
ment. 

TREBELL. Well, I shall expect to hear. 

HORSHAM. By hurrying one only reaches a rash con- 
clusion. 

TREBELL. Then be rash for once, and take the conse- 
quences. Good-night. 

He is gone before horsham can compose another 
epigram. 

blackborough. ^Deprecating such conduct.^ Lost his 
temper ! 

FARRANT. [Ruffling consider ably. 1 Horsham, if Trebell 
is to be hounded out of your cabinet . . he won't go alone. 

HORSHAM. \_Bitter-szveet.'] My dear Farrant . . I have 
yet to form my cabinet. 

CANTELUPE, You are forming it to carry disestablish- 
ment, are you not, Cyril? Therefore you will form it in 
the best interests of the best scheme possible. 

HORSHAM. Trebell was and is the best man I know of 
for the purpose. I'm a little weary of saying that. 

He folds his arms and awaits further developments. 
After a moment cantelupe gets up as if to address 
a meeting. 

CANTELUPE. Then if you would prefer not to include 
me . . I shall feel justified in giving independent support 
to a scheme I have great faith in. [And he sits down 
again.'] 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Impatiently.] My dear Cantelupe, if 
you think Horsham can form a disestablishment cabinet to 
include Trebell and exclude you, you're vastly mistaken. 
I for one . . . 

FARRANT. But do both of you consider how valuable, 
how vital, Trebell is to us just at this moment? The 
Kadicals trust him. 

BLACKBOROUGii. They hate him. 



ACT m] WASTE 93 

HORSHAM. [Elucidating.'] Their front bench hates him 
because he turned them out. The rest of them hate their 
front bench. After six years of office who wouldn't? 

BLACKBOROUGH. That's true. 

xFARRANT. Oh, of coursc, wc must stick to Trebell, 
Blackborough. 

BLACKBOROUGH is sHefit ; so HORSHAM tums his at- 
tention to his cousin. 
. HORSHAM. Well, Charles, I won't ask you for a decision 
now. I know how hard it is to accept the dictates of other 
men's consciences . . but a necessary condition of all po- 
litical work, believe me. 

CANTELUPE. [Uneasily.l You can form your cabinet 
without me, Cyril. 

At this BLACKBOROUGH chavgcs down on them, so to 
speak. 

BLACKBOROUGH. No, I tell you, I'm damned if he can. 
Leaving the whole high church party to blackmail all they 
can out of us and vote how they like ! Here . . I've got 
my Yorkshire people to think of. I can bargain for them 
with you in a cabinet . . not if you've the pull of being 
out of it. 

HORSHAM. {With charming insinuationJ] And have 
you calculated, Blackborough, what may become of us if 
Trebell has the pull of being out of it? 
BLACKBOROUGH makcs a face. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Yes . . I supposc he might turn nasty, 

FARRANT. I should hopc he would. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [TackUng FARRANT with great ease.] 
I should hope he would consider the matter not from the 
personal, but from the political point of view . . as I am 
trying to do. 

HORSHAM. [Tasting his epigram with enjoyment.] In- 
trospection is the only bar to such an honourable endeav- 



94 WASTE; [act III 

our. [blackborough gapesJ] You don't suffer from that 
as — for instance — Charles here, does. 

BLACKBOROUGH. {^Pugnaciously.'] D'you mean I'm just 
pretending not to attack him personally? 

HORSHAM. [Safe on his own ground.'] It's only a curi- 
ous metaphysical point. Have you never noticed your dis- 
taste for the colour of a man's hair translate itself 
ultimately into an objection to his religious opinions . . or 
what not ? I am sure — for instance — I could trace Charles's 
scruples about sitting in a cabinet with Trebell back to a 
sort of academic reverence for women generally which he 
possesses. I am sure I could . . if he were not probably 
now doing it himself. But this does not make the scruples 
less real, less religious, or less political. We must be 
humanly biased in expression . . or not express ourselves. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Whose thoughts have wandered.'] The 
man's less of a danger than he was . . I mean he'll be 
alone. The Liberals won't have him back. He smashed 
his following there to come over to us. 

FARRANT. [Giviug a further meaning to this.'] Yes, 
Blackborough, he did. 

BLACKBOROUGH. To gain his own ends ! Oh, my dear 
Horsham, can't you see that if O'Connell had blabbed to- 
morrow it really would have been a blessing in disguise? I 
don't pretend to Cantelupe's standard . . but there must 
be something radically wrong with a man who could get 
himself intO' such a mess as that . . now mustn't there? 
Ah ! , . you have a fatal partiality for clever people. I 
tell you . . though this might be patched up . . Trebell 
would fail us in some other way before we were six 
months older. 

This speech has its effect; but horsham looks at 
him a little sternly. 

HORSHAM. And am I to conclude that you don't want 
Charles to change his mind? 



ACT m] WASTE 95 

BLACKBOROUGH. [On another tack.'] Farrant has not 
yet allowed us to hear Percival's opinion. 
FARRANT looks rather alarmed. 

FARRANT. It has Very little reference to the scandal. 
, BLACKBOROUGH. As that is at an end . . all the more 
reason we should hear it. 

HORSHAM. [Ranging himself with farrant.] I called 
this quite informal meeting, Blackborough, only to dispose 
.of the scandal, if possible. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Well, of coursc, if Farrant chooses to 
insult Percival so gratuitously by burking his message to 
us . . . 

There is an unspoken threat in this, horsham sees 
it, and without disguising his irritation. 

HORSHAM. Let us have it, Farrant. 

FARRANT. [With a sort of puzzled discontent.] Well . . 
I never got to telling him of the O'Connell affair at all. 
He started talking to me . . saying that he couldn't for a 
moment agree to Trebell's proposals for the finance of his 
bill . . I couldn't get a word in edgeways. Then his wife 
came up . . 

HORSHAM takes something in this so seriously that 
he actually interrupts. 

HORSHAM. Does he definitely disagree? What is his 
point? 

FARRANT. He says Disestablishment's a bad enough 
speculation for the party as it is. 

BLACKBOROUGH. It is inevitable. 

FARRANT. He sccs that. But then he says . . to go to 
the Country again, having bolstered up Education and 
quarrelled with everybody, will be bad enough . . to go 
having spent fifty milHons on it will dish us for all our 
lifetimes. 

HORSHAM. What does he propose? 

FARRANT. He'll offer to draft another bill, and take it 



96 WASTE [act m 

through himself. He says . . do as many good turns as 
we can with the money . . don't put it all on one horse. 

BLACKBOROUGH. He's your man, Horsham. That's one 
difficulty settled. 

Horsham's thoughts are evidently beyond black- 
borough^ beyond the absent percival even. 

HORSHAM. Oh . . any of us could carry that sort of a 
bill. 

CANTELUPE has heard this last passage with nothing 
less than horror and pale anger, which he contains 
no longer. 

CANTEiLUPE. I won't have this. I won't have this op- 
portunity frittered away for party purposes. 

BLACKBOROUGH. \_Expostulating reasonably.'] My dear 
Cantelupe . . you'll get whatever you think it right for the 
Church to have. You carry a solid thirty-eight votes with 
you. 

horsham's smooth voice intervenes. He speaks 
with finesse. 

HORSHAM, Percival, as an old campaigner, expresses 
himself very roughly. The point is, that we are, after all, 
only the trustees of the party. If we know that a certain 
step will decimate it . . clearly we have no right to take 
the step. 

CANTELUPE. [Glowing to white heat.] Is this a time to 
count the consequences to ourselves? 

HORSHAM. \_Unkindly.'] By your action this evening, 
Charles, you evidently think not. \_He salves the wound.] 
No matter, I agree with you . . the bill should be a com- 
prehensive one, whoever brings it in. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Not without enjoyment of the situa- 
tion.] Whoever brings it in will have to knuckle under to 
Percival over its finance. 

FARRANT. Trebell won't do that. I warned Percival. 

HORSHAM. Then what did he say ? 



ACT m] WASTE 97 

FARRANT. He oiily sworc. 

HORSHAM suddenly becomes peevish. 
HORSHAM. I think, Farrant, you should have given me 
this message before. 

^FARRANT. My dear Horsham, what had it to do with 
our request to O'Connell? 

HORSHAM. [Scolding the company generally.'] Well, 
then, I wish he hadn't sent it. I wish we were not discuss- 
•ing these points at all. The proper time for them is at a 
cabinet meeting. And when we have actually assumed the 
responsibilities of government . . then threats of resigna- 
tion are not things to be played about with. 

FARRANT. Did you expect Percival's objection to the 
finance of the scheme. 

HORSHAM. Perhaps . . perhaps. I knew Trebell was 
to see him last Tuesday. I expect everybody's objections 
to any parts of every scheme to come at a time when I am 
in a proper position to reconcile them . . not now. 

Having vented his grievances, he sits down to re- 
cover. BLACKBOROUGH tokcs advantage of the ensu- 
ing pause. 
BLACKBOROUGH. It isn't SO casy for me to speak against 
Trebell, since he evidently dislikes me personally as much 
as I dislike him . . but I'm sure I'm doing my duty. Hor- 
sham . . here you have Cantelupe who won't stand in with 
the man, and Percival, who won't stand in with his meas- 
ure, while I would sooner stand in with neither. Isn't it 
better to face the situation now than take trouble to form 
the most makeshift of cabinets, and if that doesn't go to 
pieces, be voted down in the House by your own party? 

There is an oppressive silence, horsham is sulky. 
The matter is beyond farrant. cantelupe^ whose 
agonies have expressed themselves in slight writh- 
ings, at last, with an effort, writhes himself to his 
feet. 



98 WASTE [act hi 

CANTELUPE. I think I am prepared to reconsider my 
decision. 

FARRANT. That's all right, then ! 

He looks round wonderingly for the rest of the cho- 
rus, to find that neither blackborough nor hor- 
SHAM have stirred. 

BLACKBOROUGH. IstealthHy.'] Is it, Horsham? 

HORSHAM. ISotto voce.'] Why did you ever make it? 
BLACKBOROUGH leaves him for cantelupe. 

BLACKBOROUGH. You're afraid for the integrity of the 
bill. 

CANTELUPE. It must be comprehensive . . that's vital. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Very forcefully.'] I give you my 
word to support its integrity, if you'll keep with me in 
persuading Horsham that the inclusion of Trebell in his 
cabinet will be a blow to the whole Conservative Cause. 
Horsham, I implore you not to pursue this short-sighted 
policy. All parties have made up their minds to Disestab- 
lishment . . surely nothing should be easier than to frame 
a bill which will please all parties. 

FARRANT. [At last percciving the drift of all this.] But 
good Lord, Blackborough . . now Cantelupe has come 
round and will stand in . . . 

BLACKBOROUGH. That's no longer the point. And 
what's all this nonsense about going to the country again 
next year? 

HORSHAM. [Mildly.] After consulting me, Percival 
said at Bristol . . . 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Quite unchecked.] I know. But if 
we pursue a thoroughly safe policy, and the bye-elections 
go right . . there need be no vote of censure carried for 
three or four years. The Radicals want a rest with the 
country, and they know it. And one has no right, what's 
more, to go wantonly plunging the country into the ex- 
penses of these constant general elections. It ruins trade. 



ACT m] WASTE 99 

FARRANT. [Forlomly sticking to his point.'] What has 
all this to do with Trebell? 

HORSHAM. [Thought fully.] Farrant, beyond what 
you've told us, Percival didn't recommend me to throw him 
over. 

> FARRANT. No, he didn't . , that is, he didn't exactly. 
HORSHAM. Well . . he didn't? 

FARRANT. I'm trying to be accurate. [Obviously their 
nerves are now on edge.] He said we should find him 
'tough to assimilate — as he warned you. 

HORSHAM, with knit hrows, loses himself In thought 
again, blackborough quietly turns his attention to 

FARRANT. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Farrant, you don't seriously think that 
. . outside his undoubted capabilities . . Trebell is an ac- 
quisition to the party? 

FARRANT. {Unwillingly.] Perhaps not. But if you're 
going to chuck a man . . don't chuck him when he's down. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Hc's no longer down. We've got him 
O'Connell's promise, and jolly grateful he ought to be. I 
think the least we can do is to keep our minds clear be- 
tween Trebell's advantage and the party's. 

CANTELUPE. [From the distant music-stool.] And the 
party's and the Country's. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Countering quite deftly.] Cantelupe, 
either we think it best for the country to have our party in 
power or we don't. 

FARRANT. [In judicious temper.] Certainly, I don't 
feel our responsibility towards him is what it was ten min- 
utes ago. The man has other careers besides his political 
one. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Ready to praise.] Clever as paint at 
the Bar — best Company lawyer we've got. 

CANTELUPE. It is uot what he loses, I think . . but 
what we lose in losing him. 



100 WASTEI [act III 

He says this so earnestly that horsham pays atten- 
tion. 
HORSHAM. No, my dear Charles, let us be practical. If 
his position with us is to be made impossible it is better 
that he shouldn't assume it. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [^Soft and friendly.'] How far are you 
actually pledged to him? 

HORSHAM looks Up with the most ingenuous of smiles, 
HORSHAM. That's always such a difficult sort of point 
to determine, isn't it? He thinks he is to join us. But I've 
not yet been commanded to form a cabinet. If neither you 
— nor Percival — nor perhaps others will work with him 
. . what am I to do? \_He appeals to them generally to 
justify this attitude.] 

BLACKBOROUGH. He uo longer thinks he's to join us . . 
it's the question he left us to decide. 

He leaves horsham^ whose perplexity is diminish- 
ing. FARRANT makes an effort. 
FARRANT. But the scaudal won't weaken his position 
with us now. There won't be any scandal . . there won't, 
Blackborough. 

HORSHAM. There may be. Though I take it we're all 
guiltless of having mentioned the matter. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [Very detached.] I've only known of 
it since I came into this house . . but I shall not mention it. 
FARRANT. Oh, I'm afraid my wife knows. [He adds 
hastily.] My fault . . my fault entirely. 
BLACKBOROUGH. I tell you Rumour's electric. 

HORSHAM has turned to farrant with a sweet smile 
and with the air of a man about to be relieved of all 
responsibility. 
HORSHAM. What does she say? 

FARRANT. [As One speaks of a nice woman.] She was 
horrified. 
HORSHAM. Of course. lOnce more he finds refuge and 



ACT III] WASTE 101 

comfort on the hearthrug, to say, after a moment, with fine 
resignation.'] I suppose I must let him go. 

CANTELUPE. [Ow his feet again.'] Cyril ! 

HORSHAM. Yes, Charles? 

With this query he turns an accusing eye on cante- 
LUPE_, zvho is silenced. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Have you made up your mind to that? 

farrant. \_In great distress.] You're wrong, Horsham. 
{Then in greater.] That is . . I t h i n k you're wrong. 
' HORSHAM, rd sooner not let him know to-night. 

BLACKBOROUGH. But he asked you to. 

HORSHAM. {^All show of resistance gone.] Did he? 
Then I suppose I must. [^He sighs deeply.] 

BLACKBOROUGH. Then I'll get back to Aylesbury. 

He picks up his motor-cap from the table and set- 
tles it on his head with immense aplomb. 

HORSHAM. So late? 

BLACKBOROUGH. Really, one can get along quicker at 
night if one knows the road. You're in town, aren't you, 
Farrant? Shall I drop you at Grosvenor Square? 

FARRANT. [Ungracioiisly.] Thank you. 

BLACKBOROUGH. [With a conqueroY^s geniality.] I don't 
mind telHng you now, Horsham, that ever since we met at 
Shapters I've been wondering how you'd escape from this 
association with Trebell. Thought he was being very 
clever when he crosed the House to us ! It's needed a 
special providence. You'd never have got a cabinet to- 
gether to include him. 

HORSHAM. [With much intention.] No. 

FARRANT. [^Miserably.] Yes, I suppose that intrigue 
was a mistake from the beginning. 

BLACKBOROUGH. Well, good-night. \_As he turns to go 
he finds cantelupe upright, staring very sternly at him.] 
Good-night, Cantelupe. 



102 WASTE [act m 

CANTELUPE. From what motives have we thrown Tre- 
bell over? 

BLACKBOROUGH. Never mind the motives, if the move 
is the right one. [Then he nods at horsham.] I shall be 
up again next week if you want me. 

And he flourishes out of the room; a man who has 

done a good hour's work, farrant, who has been 

mooning depressedly around, now hacks towards the 

door. 

FARRANT. In One way, of course, Trebell won't care a 

damn. I mean he knows as well as we do that office isn't 

worth having . . he has never been a place-hunter. On 

the other hand . . what with one thing and the other . . 

Blackborough is a sensible fellow. I suppose it can't be 

helped. 

HORSHAM. Blackborough will tell you so. Good-night. 
So FARRANT departs, leaving the two cousins togeth- 
er. CANTELUPE has not moved, and now faces hor- 
sham just as accusingly. 
CANTELUPE. Cyril, this is tragic. 
HORSHAM. [More to himself than in answer."] Yes . . 
most annoying. 

CANTELUPE. Lucifcr, son of the morning! Why is it 
always the highest who fall? 

HORSHAM shies fostidiously at this touch of poetry. 
HORSHAM. No, my dear Charles, let us, above all things, 
keep our mental balance. Trebell is a most capable fel- 
low. I'd set my heart on having him with me . . he'll be 
most awkward to deal with in opposition. But we shall 
survive his loss, and so would the country. 

CANTELUPE. [Desperately.'] Cyril, promise me there 
shall be no compromise over this measure. 

HORSHAM. [Charmingly candid.] No . . no unneces- 
sary compromise, I promise you. 
CANTELUPE. [With a sigh.] If we had done what we 



ACT III] WASTE 103 

have done to-night in the right spirit ! Blackborough was 
ahuost vindictive. 

HORSHAM. ^Smiling without amusement.'] Didn't you 
keep thinking . . I did . . of that affair of his with Mrs. 
Parkington . . years ago? 

CANTELUPE. There was never any proof of it. 

HORSHAM. No . . he bought off the husband. 

CANTELUPE. lUneosUy.J His objections to Trebell were 
— ^oHtical. 

HORSHAM. Yours Weren't. 

CANTELUPE. [Morc ufieasUy still.'] I withdrew mine. 

HORSHAM. [With elderly reproof.] I don't think, 
Charles, you have the least conception of what a nicely 
balanced machine a cabinet is. 

CANTELUPE. \_Imploring comfort.] But should we have 
held together through Trebell's bill? 

HORStiAM. [A little impatient.] Perhaps not. But once 
I had them all round a table . . Trebell is very keen on 
office, for all his independent airs . . he and Percival 
could have argued the thing out. However, it's too late 
now. 

CANTELUPE. Is it? 

For a moment horsham is tempted to indulge in the 
luxury of changing his mind; hut he puts Satan be- 
hind him with a shake of the head. 
HORSHAM. Well, you see . . Percival I can't do with- 
out. Now that Blackborough knows of his objections to 
the finance he'd go to him and take Chisholm and offer to 
back them up. I know he would . . he didn't take Far- 
rant away with him for nothing. \_Then he flashes out 
rather shrilly.] It's Trebell's own fault. He ought not to 
have committed himself definitely to any scheme until he 
was safely in office. I warned him about Percival . . I 
warned him not to be explicit. One cannot work with 



104 WASTE [act m 

men who will make up their minds prematurely. No, I 
shall not change my mind. I shall write to him. 

He goes firmly to his writing desk, leaving cante- 
LUPE forlorn. 
CANTELUPE. What about a messenger? 
HORSHAM. Not at this time of night. I'll post it. 
CANTELUPE. I'll post it as I go. 

He seeks comfort again in the piano, and this time 

starts to play, with one finger, and some hesitation, 

the first bars of a Bach fugue, horsham^s pen-nib 

is disappointing him, and the letter is not easy to 

phrase. 

HORSHAM. But I hate coming to immediate decisions. 

The administrative part of my brain always tires after 

half an hour. Does yours, Charles? 

CANTELUPE. What do you think Trebell will do now? 
HORSHAM. \_A little grimly.'] Punish us all he can. 
On reaching the second voice in the fugue cante- 
lupe's virtuosity breaks down. 
CANTELUPE. All that ability turned to destructiveness . . 
what a pity ! That's the paradox of human activities . . 

Suddenly horsham looks up, and his face is lighted 
with a seraphic smile. 
h»orsham. Charles . . I wish we could do without 
Blackborough. 

CANTELUPE. \_Struck with the idea.] Well . . why not ? 
HORSHAM. Yes . . I must think about it. [They both 
get up, cheered considerably.] You won't forget this, will 
you? 

CANTELUPE. [The letter in horsham's hand accusing 
him.] No . . no. I don't think I have been the cause of 
your dropping Trebell, have I? 

HORSHAM, rid of the letter, is rid of responsibility, 
and is his charming, equable self again. He com- 
forts his cousin paternally. 



ACT m] WASTE 105 

HORSHAM. I don't think so. The split would have 
come when Blackborough checkmated my forming a cabi- 
net. It would have pleased him to do that . . and he 
could have, over Trebell. But now that question's out of 
the way . . you won't get such a bad measure with Tre- 
bell in opposition. He'll frighten us into keeping it up to 
the mark, so to speak. 

CANTELUPE. [A little comfortcd,'] But I shall miss one 
or two of those ideas . . 

HORSHAM. l^So pleasantly sceptical.^ Do you think 
they'd have outlasted the second reading? Dullness in the 
country one expects. Dullness in the House one can cope 
with. But do you know, I have never sat in a cabinet yet 
that didn't greet anything like a new idea in chilling 
silence. 

CANTELUPE. Well, I should regret to have caused you 
trouble, Cyril. 

HORSHAM. \_His hand on the other's shoulder.'] Oh . . 
we don't take politics so much to heart as that, I hope. 

CANTELUPE. [With sweet gravity.'] I take politics very 
much to heart. Yes, I know what you mean . . but that's 
the sort of remark that makes people call you cynical. 
[horsham smiles as if at a compliment, and starts with 
CANTELUPE towards the door, cantelupe^ who would not 
hurt his feelings, changes the subject.] By the bye, I'm 
glad we met this evening ! Do you hear Aunt Mary wants 
to sell the Burford Holbein? Can she? 

HORSHAM. [Taking as keen, hut no keener, an interest 
in this than in the difficulty he has just surmounted.] Yes, 
by the will she can, but she mustn't. Dear me, I thought 
I'd put a stop to that foolishness. Well, now, we must 
take that matter up very seriously. 

They go out talking, arm in arm. 



106 WASTE [act iv 



THE FOURTH ACT 

At trebell's again; later the same evening. 

His room is in darkness but for the flicker the fire makes 
and the streaks of moonlight between the curtains. 
The door is open, though, and you see the light of 
the lamp on the stairs. You hear his footstep, too. 
On his way he stops to draw back the curtains of 
the passage-way window; the moonlight makes his 
face look very pale. Then he serves the curtains of 
his own window the same; flings it open, moreover, 
and stands looking out. Something below draws his 
attention. After leaning over the balcony, with a 
short "Hullo" he goes quickly downstairs again. In 
a minute wedgecroft comes up. trebell follows, 
pausing by the door a moment to light up the room. 
WEDGECROFT is radiant. 
TREBELL. [With fl twist of his mouth.'] Promised, has 
he? 

WEDGECROFT. Suddenly broke out, as we walked along, 
that he liked the look of you, and that men must stand by 
one another nowadays against these women. Then he 
said good-night and walked away. 
TREBELL. Back to Ireland and the thirteenth century. 
WEDGECROFT. After to-morrow. 

TREBELL. [Taking all the meaning of to-morrow.'] Yes. 
Are you in for perjury, too? 

WEDGECROFT. \_His thankfulncss checked a little.] No 
. . not exactly. 

TREBELL walks awoy from him. 



ACT iv] WASTE 107 

TREBELL. It's a pity the truth isn't to be told, I think. I 
suppose the verdict will be murder. 

WEDGECROFT. They won't catch the man. 

TREBELL. You don't mean . . me? 

WEDGECROFT. No, no •. . my dear fellow. 

TREBELL. You might, you know. But nobody seems to 
see this thing as I see it. If I were on that jury I'd say 
murder, too, and accuse . . so many circumstances, Gil- 
bert, that we should go home . . and look in the cup- 
boards. What a lumber of opinions we inherit and keep ! 

WEDGECROFT. {Humourifig him.'] Ought we to burn 
the house down? 

TREBELL. Rules and regulations for the preservation of 
rubbish are the laws of England . . and I was adding to 
their number. 

WEDGECROFT, And SO you shall . . to the applause of a 
grateful country. 

TREBELL. [Studying his friend's kindly, encouraging 
face.] Gilbert, it is not so much that you're an incorrigi- 
ble optimist . . but why do you subdue your mind to flat- 
ter people into cheerfulness? 

WEDGECROFT. I'm a doctor, my friend. 

TREBELL. You're a part of our tendency to keep things 
alive by hook or crook . . not a spark but must be care- 
fully blown upon. The world's old and tired; it dreads 
extinction. I think I disapprove . . I think I've more 
faith. 

WEDGECROFT. [scolding him.] Nonsense . . you've the 
instinct to preserve your life as everyone else has . . and 
I'm here to show you how. 

TREBELL. [Beyoud the reach of his kindness.] I assure 
you that these two days while you've been fussing around 
O'Connell — bless your kind heart — I've been waiting 
events, indifferent enough to understand his indifference. 

WEDGECROFT. Not indifferent. 



108 WASTE [act IV 

TREBELL. Lifelcss cnough already, then. [Suddenly a 
thought strikes him.'] D'you think it was Horsham and 
his little committee persuaded O'Connell? 

WEDGECROFT. On the contrary. 

TREBELL. So you need not have let them into the secret? 

WEDGECROFT. No. 

TREBELL. Think of that ! 

He almost laughs; but wedgecroft goes on quite 
innocently. 

WEDGECROFT. Yes . . I'm sorry. 

TREBELL. Upsetting their moral digestion for nothing. 

WEDGECROFT. But whcn O'Connell wouldn't listen to 
us we had to rope in the important people. 

TREBELL. With their united wisdom. [Then he breaks 
away again into great bitterness.] No . . what do they 
make of this woman's death? I saw them in that room, 
Gilbert, like men seen through the wrong end of a tele- 
scope. D'you think if the little affair with Nature . . her 
offence and mine against the conveniences of civilization 
. . had ended in my death, too . . then they'd have stopped 
to- wonder at the misuse and waste of the only force there 
is in the world . . come to think of it, there is no other . . 
than this desire for expression . . in words . . or through 
children. Would they have thought of that and stopped 
whispering about the scandal? 

Through this wedgecroft has watched him very 
gravely, 

WEDGECROFT. Trebcll . . if the inquest to-morrow had 
put you out of action . . 

TREBELL. Should I havc grown a beard and travelled 
abroad, and after ten years timidly tried to climb my way 
back into politics ? When public opinion takes its heel from 
your face it keeps it for your finger-tips. After twenty 
years to be forgiven by your more broad-minded friends 
and tolerated as a dotard by a new generation . . , 



ACT iv] WASTE 109 

WEDGECROFT. Nonsensc. What age are you now . . 
forty-six . . forty-seven? 

TREBELL. Well . . let's instance a good man. Gladstone 
had done his best work by sixty-five. Then he began to be 
popular. Think of his last years of oratory. 

He has gone to his table, and now very methodically 
starts to tidy his papers, wedgecroft still watching 
him. 

-WEDGECROFT. You'd have had to thank Heaven for a 
little that there were more lives than one to lead. 

TREBELL. That's another of your faults, Gilbert . . it's 
a comfort just now to enumerate them. You're an anarch- 
ist .. a kingdom to yourself. You make little treaties 
with Truth and with Beauty, and what can disturb you? 
I'm a part of the machine I believe in. If my life as I've 
made it is to be cut short . . the rest of me shall walk out 
of the world and slam the door . . with the noise of a 
pistol shot. 

WEDGECROFT. [^Concealing some uneasiness.'} Then I'm 
glad it's not to be cut short. You and your cabinet rank 
and your disestablishment bill ! 

TREBELL starts to cnjoy his secret. 

TREBELL. Ycs . . our miuds have been much relieved 
within the last half hour, haven't they? 

WEDGECROFT. I scribbled Horsham a note in a messen- 
ger office and sent it as soon as O'Connell had left me. 

TREBELL. He'd be glad to get that. 

WEDGECROFT. He has been most kind about the whole 
thing. 

TREBELL. Oh, he means well. 

WEDGECROFT. [Following up his fancied advantage. 1 
But, my friend . . suicide whilst of unsound mind would 
never have done . . The hackneyed verdict hits the truth, 
you know. 

TREBELL. You think so? 



110 WASTE [act IV 

WEDGECROFT. I doii't say there aren't excuses enough 
in this miserable world, but fundamentally . . no sane per- 
son will destroy life. 

TREBELL. [His tJioiights shifting their plane.'] Was she 
so very mad? Fm not thinking of her own death. 

WEDGECROFT. Don't brood, Trebell. Your mind isn't 
healthy yet about her and 

TREBELL. And my child. 

Even wedgeckoft's kindness is at fault before the 
solemnity of this. 

WEDGECROFT. Is that how you'rc thinking of it? 

TREBELL. How clse ? It's vcry inexplicable . . this 
sense of fatherhood. ^The eyes of his mind travel down — 
what vista of possibilities. Then he shakes himself free.] 
Let's drop the subject. To finish the list of shortcomings, 
you're a bit of an artist, too . . therefore, I don't think 
you'll understand. 

WEDGECROFT. \_Successfully decoyed into argument.] 
Surely an artist is a man who understands. 

TREBELL. Everything about life, but not life itself. 
That's where art fails a man. 

WEDGECROFT. That's where everything but living fails 
a man. ^Drifting into introspection himself.] Yes, it's 
true. I can talk cleverly, and I've written a book . . but 
I'm barren. [Then the healthy mind re-asserts itself.] 
No, it's not true. Our thoughts are children . . and marry 
and intermarry. And we're peopling the world . . not 
badly. 

TREBELL. Well . . either life is too little a thing to 
matter, or it's so big that such specks of it as we may be 
are of no account. These are two points of view. And 
then one has to consider if death can't be sometimes the 
last use made of life. 

There is a tone of menace in this which recalls 
WEDGECROFT to the present trouble. 



ACT iv] WASTE 111 

WEDGECROFT. I doubt the virtue of sacrifice . . or the 
use of it. 

TREBELL. How clsc could I tell Horsham that my work 
matters? Does he think so now? . . not he. 

WEDGECROFT. You mean .if they'd had to throw you 
over? 

Once again trebell looks up with that secretive 
smile. 

JREBELL. Yes . . if they'd had to. 

WEDGECROFT. [Unreasonably nervous, so he thinks.'] My 
dear fellow, Horsham would have thought it was the shame 
and disgrace if you'd shot yourself after the inquest. 
That's the proper sentimental thing for you so-called 
strong men to do on like occasions. Why, if your name 
were to come out to-morrow, your best meaning friends 
would be sending you pistols by post, requesting you to 
use them like a gentleman. Horsham would grieve over 
ten dinner-tables in succession, and then return to his 
philosophy. One really mustn't waste a life trying to 
shock polite politicians. There'd even be a suspicion of 
swagger in it. 

TREBELL. Quite so . . the bomb that's thrown at their 
feet must be something otherwise worthless. 

FRANCES comes in quickly, evidently in search of her 
brother. Though she has not been crying, her eyes 
are wide with grief. 

FRANCES. Oh, Henry . . I'm so tglad you're still up. 
[She notices wedgecroft.] How d'you do, Doctor? 

TREBELL. [DoubUng his mask of indifference.] Meis- 
tersinger's over early. 

FRANCES. Is it? 

TREBELL. Not much past twelve yet. 

FRANCES. [The little gibe lost on her.] It was Tristan 
to-night. I'm quite upset. I heard just as I was coming 
away . . Amy O'Connell's dead. [Both men hold their 



112 WASTE [act IV 

breath, trebell is the first to find control of his and give 
the cue. 

TREBELL. Yes . . Wcdgecroft has just told me. 

FRANCES. She was only taken ill last week . . it's so 
extraordinary. \_She remembers the doctor.'] Oh . . have 
you been attending her ? 

WEDGECROFT. YeS. 

FRANCES. I hear there's to be an inquest. 

WEDGECROFT. YeS. 

FRANCES. But what has been the matter? 

TREBELL. [^Sharply forestalling any answer.'] You'll 
know to-morrow. 

FRANCES. \The little snub almost bewildering her.] 
Anything private? I mean . . 

TREBELL. No . . I'll tell you. Don't make Gilbert re- 
peat a story twice . . He's tired with a good day's work. 

WEDGECROFT. Yes . . I'll be getting away. 

FRANCES never heeds this flash of a further mean- 
ing between the two men. 

FRANCES. And I meant to have gone to see her to-day. 
Was the end very sudden? Did her husband arrive in 
time? 

WEDGECROFT. YeS. 

FRANCES. They didn't get on . . he'll be frightfully 
upset. 

TREBELL rcsists a hideous temptation to laugh. 
WEDGECROFT. Good-uight, Trebell. 
TREBELL. Good-night, Gilbert. Many thanks. 

There is enough of a caress in trebell's tone to 
turn FRANCES towards their friend, a little remorse- 
ful for treating him so casually, now as always. 
FRANCES. He's always thanking you. You're always 
doing things for him. 

WEDGECROFT. Good-night. {^Seeing the tears in her 
eyes.] Oh, don't grieve. 



ACT iv] WASTE 116 

FRANCES. • One shouldn't be sorry when people die, I 
know. But she liked me more than I liked her . . ^This 
time TREBELL does laugh, silently.'] . . so I somehow feel 
in her debt and unable to pay now. 

TREBELL. [An edge on his voice.'] Yes . . people keep 
on dying at all sorts of ages, in all sorts of ways. But we 
seem never to get used to it . . narrow-minded as we are. 

WEDGECROFT. Dou't you talk nonsense. 

TREBELL. \_One uote sharper yet.] One should occa- 
sionally test one's sanity by doing so. If we lived in the 
logical world we like to believe in, I could also prove that 
black was white. As it is . . there are more ways of kill- 
ing a cat than hanging it. 

WEDGECROFT. Had I better give you a sleeping draught ? 

FRANCES. Are you doctoring him for once? Henry, 
have you at last managed to overwork yourself ? 

TREBELL. No . . I Started the evening by a charming 
little dinner at the Van Meyer's . . sat next to Miss Grace 
Cutler, who is writing a vie intime of Louis Quinze, and 
engaged me with anecdotes of the same. 

FRANCES. A champion of her sex, whom I do not like. 

WEDGECROFT. Shc's writing such a book to prove that 
women are equal to anything. 

He goes towards the door, and Frances goes with 
him. TREBELL never turns his head. 

TREBELL. I shall not come and open the door for you . , 
but mind you shut it. 

FRANCES comes back. 

FRANCES. Henry . . this is dreadful about that poor 
little woman. 

TREBELL. An unwclcomc baby was arriving. She got 
some quack to kill her. 

These exact words are like a Mow in the face to 
her, from which, being a woman of brave common 
sense, she does not shrink. 



114 WASTE [act IV 

TREBELL. What do you say to that? 

She walks away from him, thinking painfully. 

FRANCES. She had never had a child. There's the com- 
mon-place thing to say . . Ungrateful little fool ! But . . 

TREBELL. If you had been in her place ? 

FRANCES. \^Suhtly.'\ I have never made the mistake of 
marrying. She grew frightened, I suppose. Not just 
physically frightened. How can a man understand? 

TREBELL. The fear of life . . do you think it was . . 
which is the beginning of all evil? 

FRANCES. A woman must choose what her interpreta- 
tion of life is to be .. as a man must, too, in his way . . 
as you and I have chosen, Henry. 

TREBELL. {^Asking from real interest in her."] Was 
yours a deliberate choice, and do you never regret it? 

FRANCES. [Very simply and clearly.'] Perhaps one does 
nothing quite deliberately and for a definite reason. My 
state has its compensations . . if one doesn't value them 
too highly. I've travelled in thought over all this question. 
You mustn't blame a woman for wishing not to bear chil- 
dren. But . . well, if one doesn't like the fruit one mustn't 
cultivate the flower. And I suppose that saying condemns 
poor Amy . . condemned her to death . . ^Then her face 
hardens as she concentrates her meaning.'] and brands 
most men as . . let's unsentimentally call it illogical, 
doesn't it? 

He takes the thrust in silence, 

TREBELL. Did you notice the light in my window as you 
came in? 

FRANCES. Yes . . in both as I got out of the cab. Do 
you want the curtains drawn back? 

TREBELL. Ycs . . dou't touch them. 

He has thrown himself into his chair by the fire. 
She lapses into thought again, 

FRANCES. Poor little woman, 



ACT iv] WASTE 115 

TREBELL. [/« deep angerj] Well, if women will be lit- 
tle and poor . . 

She goes to him and slips an arm over his shoulder. 

FRANCES. What is it you're worried about . . if a mere 
sister may ask? 

TREBELL. [Into the are.'] I want to think. I haven't 
thought for years. 

FRANCES. Why, you have done nothing else. 

TREBELL. I've been working out problems in legal and 
political algebra. 

FRANCES. You waut to think of yourself. 

TREBELL. YeS. 

FRANCES. \_Gentle and ironic.'] Have you ever, for one 
moment, thought in that sense of anyone else? 

TREBELL. Is that 3. complaiut ? 

FRANCES. The first in ten years' housekeeping. 

TREBELL. No, I uever have . . but I've never thought 
selfishly, either. 

FRANCES. That's a paradox I don't quite understand. 

TREBELL. Until womeu do they'll remain where they 
are . . and what they are. 

FRANCES. Oh, I know you hate us. 

TREBELL. Yes, dear sister, I'm afraid I do. And I hate 
your influence on men . . compromise, tenderness, pity, 
lack of purpose. Women don't know the values of things, 
not even their own value. 

For a moment she studies him wonderingly. 

FRANCES. I'll take up the counter-accusation to-morrow. 
Now I'm tired and I'm going to bed. If I may insult you 
by mothering you, so should you. You look tired and I've 
seldom seen you. 

TREBELL. I'm waiting up for a message. 

FRANCES. So late? 

TREBELL. It's a matter of life and death. 

FRANCES. Are you joking? 



116 WASTEi [act IV 

TREBELL. Ycs. If jou want to spoil me, find me a book 
to read. 

FRANCES. What will you have? 

TREBELL. Huckleberry Finn. It's on a top shelf to- 
wards the end somewhere . . or should be. 

She finds the hook. On her way hack with it she 
stops and shivers. 
FRANCES. I don't think I shall sleep to-night. Poor 
Amy O'Connell! 

TREBELL. \_Curiously.'] Are you afraid of death? 
FRANCES. {With humorous stoicism.'] It will be the 
end of me, perhaps. 

She gives him the hook, with its red cover; the '86 
edition, a hoy's friend, evidently. He fingers it 
familiarly. 
TREBELL. Thank you. Mark Twain's a jolly fellow. He 
has courage . . comic courage. That's what's wanted. 
Nothing stands against it. You be-little yourself by laugh- 
ing . . then all this world and the last and the next grow 
little, too . . and so you grow great again. Switch off 
some light, will you? 

FRANCES. {Clicking off all hut his reading lamp.] So? 
TREBELL. Thauks. Good-night, Frankie. 

She turns at the door, with a glad smile. 
FRANCES. Good-night. When did you last use that nur- 
sery name? 

Then she goes, leaving him still fingering the hook, 
hut looking into the fire and far heyond. Behind 
him, through the open window, one sees how cold 
and clear the night is. 

At eight in the morning he is still there. His lamp 
is out, the fire is out, and the hook laid aside. The 
white morning light penetrates every crevice of the 
room and shows every line on trebell^s face. The 



ACT iv] WASTE 117 

spirit of the man is strained past all reason. The 
door opens suddenly, and Frances comes in, trou- 
bled, nervous. Interrupted in her dressing, she has 
put on some wrap or other. 

FRANCES. Henry . . Simpson says you've not been to 
bed all night. 

He turns his head and says, with inappropriate 
politeness 

TREBELL. No. Good moming. 

FRANCES. Oh, my dear . . what is wrong? 

TREBEiLL. The message hasn't come . . and I've been 
thinking. 

FRANCES. Why don't you tell me ? [He turns his head 
away.'] I think you haven't the right to torture me. 

TREBELL. Your Sympathy would only blind me towards 
the facts I want to face. 

siMPS0N_, the maid, undisturbed in her routine, 
brings in the morning's letters. Frances rounds on 
her irritably. 

FRANCES. What is it, Simpson? 

MAID. The letters, Ma'am. 

TREBELL is on his feet at that. 

TREBELL. Ah . . I want them. 

FRANCES. [Taking the letters composedly enough."] 
Thank you. 

SIMPSON departs, and trebell comes to her for his 
letters. She looks at him with baffled affection. 

FRANCES. Can I do nothing? Oh, Henry! 

TREBELL. Help me to open my letters. 

FRANCES. Don't you leave them to Mr. Kent? 

TREBELL. Not this moming. 

FRANCES. But there are so many. 

TREBELL. [For the first time lifting his voice from its 
dull monotony.] What a busy man I was. 

FRANCES. Henry . . you're a little mad. 



118 WASTE [act IV 

TREBELL. Do you find me so? That's interesting. 
FRANCES. [With a ghost of a smile.'] Well . . mad- 
dening. 

By this time he is sitting at his table; she near him, 
watching closely. They halve the considerable post 
and start to open it. 
TREBELL. We arrange them in three piles . . personal 
. . political . . and preposterous. 

FRANCES. This is an invitation . . the Anglican League. 

TREBELL, I can't gO. 

She looks sideways at him as he goes on mechan- 
ically tearing the envelopes. 

FRANCES. I heard you come upstairs about two o'clock. 

TREBELL. That was to dip my head in water. Then I 
made an instinctive attempt to go to bed . , got my tie off, 
even. 

FRANCES. \^Her anxiety breaking out.] If you'd tell me 
that you're only ill . . . 

TREBELL. [Forbiddingly commofiplace.] What's that 
letter? Don't fuss . . and remember that abnormal con- 
duct is sometimes quite rational. 

FRANCES returns to her task with misty eyes. 

FRANCES. It's from somebody whose son can't get into 
something. 

TREBELL. The third heap . . Kent's . . the preposter- 
ous. [Talking on with steady monotony.] But I saw it 
would not do to interrupt that logical train of thought 
which reached definition about half past six. I had then 
been gleaning until you came in. 

FRANCES. [Turning the neat little note in her hand.] 
This is from Lord Horsham. He writes his name small 
at the bottom of the envelope. 

TREBELL. [Without a trcmor.] Ah . . give it me. 
He opens this as he has opened the others, carefully 



ACT iv] WASTE 119 

putting the envelope to one side. Frances has 
ceased for the moment to watch him. 
FRANCES. That's Cousin Robert's handwriting. \^She 
puts a square envelope at his hand.'] Is a letter marked 
private from the Education Office poHtical or personal? 

By this he has read horsham's letter twice. So 
he tears it up, and speaks very coldly. 
TREBELL. Either. It doesn't matter. 
. In the silence her fears return. 
FRANCES. Henry, it's a foolish idea . . I suppose I have 
it because I hardly slept for thinking of her. Your trou- 
ble is nothing to do with Amy O'Connell, is it? 

TREBELL. \_His voicc Strangled in his throat."] Her 
child should have been my child, too. 

FRANCES. [^Her eyes open, the whole landscape of her 
mind suddenly clear.] Oh, I . . no, I didn't think so . . 
but . . . 

TREBELL. [Dealing his second blow as remorselessly as 
dealt to him.] Also I'm not joining the new Cabinet, my 
dear sister. 

FRANCES. [Her thoughts rushing now to the present — 
the future.] Not! Because of . . ? Do people know? 
Will they . . ? You didn't . . ? 

As mechanically as ever he has taken up cousin 

ROBERTAS letter, and, in some sense, read it. Now he 

recapitulates, meaninglessly, that his voice may just 

deaden her pain and his own. 

TREBELL. Robert says . . that we've not been to see them 

for some time . . but that now I'm a greater man than 

ever I must be very busy. The vicarage has been painted 

and papered throughout, and looks much fresher. Mary 

sends you her love and hopes you have no return of the 

rheumatism. And he would like to send me the proof 

sheets of his critical commentary on First Timothy . . for 

my alien eye might possibly detect some logical lapses. 



120 WASTE [act IV 

Need he repeat to me his thankfulness at my new attitude 
upon Disestablishment . . or assure me again that I have 
his prayers. Could we not go and stay there only for a 

few days? Possibly his opinion 

She has home this cruel kindness as long as she can, 
and she breaks out . , 
FRANCES. Oh . . don't . . don't! 

He falls from his seeming callousness to the very 
blankness of despair. 
TREBELL. No, wc'll leave that . . and the rest . . and 
everything. 

Her agony passes. 
FRANCES. What do you mean to do? 
TREBELL. There's to be no public scandal. 
FRANCES. Why has Lord Horsham thrown you over, 
then . . or hasn't that anything to do with it? 
TREBELL. It has to do with it. 

FRANCES. {^Lifting her voice; some tone returning to 
it."] Unconsciously . . I've known for years that this sort 
of thing might happen to you. 

TREBELL. Why ? 

FRANCES. Power over men and women, and contempt 
for them ! Do you think they don't take their revenge 
sooner or later? 

TREBELL. Much good may it do them! 

FRANCES. Human nature turns against you . . by in- 
stinct . . in self-defence. 

TREBELL. And my own human nature ! 

FRANCES. [^Shocked into great pity by his half articu- 
late pain.'] Yes . . you must have loved her, Henry . . in 
some odd way. I'm sorry for you both. 

TREBELL. I'm hating her now . . as a man can only 
hate his own silliest vices. 

FRANCES. [Flashing into defence.'] That's wrong of 
you. If you thought of her only as a pretty little fool . . 



ACT iv] WASTE 121 

Bearing your child . . all her womanly life belonged to 
you . . and for that time there was no other sort of life 
in her. So she became what you thought her. 

TREBELL. That's not true. 

FRANCES. It's true enough . . it's true of men towards 
women. You can't think of them" through generations as 
one thing and then suddenly find them another. 

TREBELL. {Hammering at his fixed idea.'] She should 
have brought that child into the world. 

FRANCES. You didn't love her enough. 

TREBELL. I didn't love her at all. 

FRANCES. Then why should she value your gift? 

TREBELL. For its owu Sake. 

FRANCES. [Turning away.'] It's hopeless . . you don't 
understand. 

TREBELL. [Helplcss; almost like a deserted child.] I've 
been trying to . . all through the night. 

FRANCES. [Turning hack, enlightened a little.] That's 
more the trouble then than the Cabinet question? 

He shakes himself to his feet and begins to pace the 
room, his keenness coming hack to him, his brow 
knitting again with the delight of thought. 

TREBELL. Oh . . as to me against the world . . I'm 
fortified with comic courage. [Then turning on her like 
any examining professor.] Now which do you believe . . 
that Man is the reformer, or that the Time brings forth 
such men as it needs, and, lobster-like, can grow another 
claw? 

FRANCES. [IVatching this new mood carefully.] I be- 
lieve that you'll be missed from Lord Horsham's Cabinet. 

TREBELL. The hand-made statesman and his hand-made 
measure ! They were out of place in that pretty Tory 
garden. Those men are the natural growth of the time. 
Am I? 

FRANCES. Just as much. And wasn't your bill going to 



m WASTE [act IV 

be such a good piece of work? That can't be thrown 
away . . wasted. 

TREBELL. Can one impose a clever idea upon men and 
women? I wonder. 

FRANCES. That rather begs the quesfion of your very 
existence, doesn't it? 

He comes to a standstill. 

TREBELL. I knOW. 

His voice shows her that meaning in her words and 
beyond it a threat. She goes to him, suddenly shak- 
ing with fear. 
FRANCES. Henry, I didn't mean that. 
TREBELL. You think I've a mind to put an end to that 
same? 

FRANCES. ^Belittling her fright."] No . . for how un- 
reasonable . . . 

TREBELL. In view of my promising past. I've stood for 
success, Fanny; I still stand for success. I could still do 
more outside the Cabinet than the rest of them, inside, will 
do. But suddenly I've a feeling the work would be bar- 
ren. \_His eyes shift beyond her; beyond the room.] 
What is it in your thoughts and actions which makes them 
bear fruit? Something that the roughest peasant may 
have in common with the best of us intellectual men . . 
something that a dog might have. It isn't successful clev- 
erness. 

She stands . . his trouble beyond her reach. 
FRANCES. Come, now . . you've done very well with 
your life. 

TREBELL. Do you kuow how empty I feel of all virtue 
at this moment? 

He leaves her. She must bring him back to the 
plane on which she can help him. 
FRANCES. We must think what's best to be done . . 
now . . and for the future. 



ACT iv] WASTE 123 

TREBELL. Why, I could go on earning useless money at 
the Bar . . think how nice that would be. I could black- 
mail the next judgeship out of Horsham. I think I could 
even smash his Disestablishment Bill . . and perhaps get 
into the next Liberal Cabinet -and start my own all over 
again, with necessary modifications. I shan't do any such 
things. 

FRANCES. No one knows about you and poor Amy ? 

TREBEjLL. Half 3. dozen friends. Shall I offer to give 
evidence at the inquest this morning? 

FRANCES. [With a little shiver. They'll say bad enough 
things about her without your blackening her good name. 
Without warning, his anger and anguish break out 
again. 

TREBELL. All shc had . . all there is left of her ! She 
was a nothingness . . silly . . vain. And I gave her this 
power over me ! 

He is beaten, exhausted. Now she goes to him, 
motherlike. 

FRANCES. My dear, listen to me for a little. Consider 
that as a sorrow and put it behind you. And think now 
. . whatever love there may be between us has neither 
hatred nor jealousy in it, has it, Henry? Since I'm not a 
mistress or a friend, but just the likest fellow-creature to 
you . . perhaps. 

TREBELL. \_Putting out his hand for hers.'] Yes, my 
sister. What I've wanted to feel for vague humanity has 
been what I should have felt for you . . if you'd ever 
made a single demand on me. 

She puts her arms round him; able to speak. 

FRANCES. Let's go away somewhere . . I'll make de- 
mands. I need refreshing as much as you. My joy of life 
has been withered in me . . oh, for a long time now. We 
must kiss the earth again . . take interest in common 
things, common people. There's so much of the world 



lU WASTE [act IV 

we don't know. There's air to breathe everywhere. Think 
of the flowers in a Tyrol valley in the early spring-. One 
can walk for days, not hurrying, as soon as the passes are 
open. And the people are kind. There's Italy . . there's 
Russia, full of simple folk. When we've learned to be 
friends with them we shall both feel so much better. 

TREBELL. \_Shaking his head, unmoved.'] My dear sis- 
ter .. I should be bored to death. The life contemplative 
and peripatetic would literally bore me intO' a living death. 

FRANCES. [^Letting it he a fairy tale.] Is your mother 
the Wide World nothing to you? Can't you open your 
heart like a child again? 

TREBELL. No, neither to the beauty of Nature nor the 
particular human animals that are always called a part of 
it. I don't even see them with your eyes. I'm a son of the 
anger of Man at men's foolishness, and unless I've that to 
feed upon . . . ! [Now he looks at her, as if for the first 
time wanting to explain himself, and his voice changes.] 
Don't you know that when a man cuts himself, shaving, he 
swears? When he loses a seat in the Cabinet he turns 
inward for comfort . . and if he only finds there a spirit 
which should have been born, but is dead . . what's to be 
done then? 

FRANCES. [In a whisper.] You mustn't think of that 
woman . . . 

TREBELL. I've reasoned my way through life . . . 

FRANCES. I see how awful it is to have the double blow 
fall. 

TREBELL. [The wave of his agony rising again.] But 
there's something in me which no knowledge touches . . 
some feeling . . some power which should be the begin- 
ning of new strength. But it has been killed in me unborn 
before I had learnt to understand . . and that's killing me. 

FRANCES. [Crying out.] Why . . why did no woman 



ACT iv] WASTE 125 

teach you to be gentle ? Why did you never believe in any 
woman? Perhaps even I am to blame. 

TREBELL. The little fool, the little fool . . why did she 
kill my child? What did it matter what I thought her? 
We were committed together" to that one thing. Do you 
think I didn't know that I was heartless and that she was 
socially in the wrong? But what did Nature care for 
that? .And Nature has broken us. 

FRANCES. [Clinging to him as he beats the air,'] Not 
you. She's dead, poor girl . . but not you. 

TREBELL. Yes . . that's the mystery no one need believe 
till he has dipped in it. The man bears the child in his 
soul as the woman carries it in her body. 

There is silence between them, till she speaks, low 
and tonelessly, never loosing his hand. 

FRANCES. Henry, I want your promise that you'll go on 
living till . . till . . 

TREBELL. Dou't cry, Fanny, that's very foolish. 

FRANCES. Till you've learnt to look at all this calmly. 
Then I can trust you. 

TREBELL smiles, but not at all grimly. 

TREBELL. But, you sce, it would give Horsham and 
Blackborough such a shock if I shot myself . . it would 
make them think about things. 

FRANCES. [With one catch of wretched laughter.] Oh, 
my dear, if shooting's wanted . . shoot them. Or I'll do 
it for you. 

He sits in his chair just from weariness. She stands 
by him, her hand still grasping his. 

TREBELL. You See, Fanny, as I said to Gilbert last night 
. . our lives are our own and yet not our own. We under- 
stand living for others and dying for others. The first is 
easy . . it's a way out of boredom. To make the second 
popular we had to invent a beHef in personal resurrection. 
Do you think we shall ever understand dying in the sure 



126 WASTE, [act iv 

and certain hope that it really doesn't matter . . that God 
is infinitely economical and wastes perhaps less of the 
power in us after our death than men do while we live ? 

FRANCES. I want your promise, Henry. 

TREBELL. You know I ncvcr make promises . . it's tak- 
ing oneself too seriously. Unless indeed one has the comic 
courage to break them, too. Fve upset you very much 
with my troubles. Don't you think you'd better go and 
finish dressing? [She doesn't move.'] My dear . . you 
don't propose to hold my right hand so safely for years to 
come. Even so, I still could jump out of a window. 

FRANCES. I'll trust you, Henry. 

She looks into his eyes and he does not flinch. Then, 
with a final grip, she leaves him. When she is at 
the door he speaks more gently than ever. 

TREBELL. Your own life is sufficient unto itself, isn't it? 

FRANCES. Oh, yes. I can be pleasant to talk to, and give 
good advice through the years that remain. [Instinctively 
she rectifies some little untidiness in the room.] What 
fools they are to think they can run that government with- 
out you ! 

TREBELL. Horsham will do his best. [Then, as for the 
second time she reaches the door.] Don't take away my 
razors, will you? I only use them for shaving. 

FRANCES. [Almost blushing.] I half meant to . . I'm 
sorry. After all, Henry, just because they are forgetting 
in personal feelings what's best for the country . . it's 
your duty not to. You'll stand by and do what you can, 
won't you? 

TREBELL. [His quccr smile returning, in contrast to her 
seriousness.] Disestablishment. It's a very interesting 
problem. I must think it out. 

FRANCES. [Really puzzled.] What do you mean ? 

He gets up with a quick movement of strange 



ACT iv] WASTE 127 

strength, and faces her. His smile changes into a 
graver gladness. 
TREBELL. Something has happened . . in spite of me. 

My heart's clean again. I'm ready for fresh adventures. 
FRANCES. \_With a nod and answering gladness.J That's 

right. 

So she leaves him, her mind at rest. For a minute 
he does not move. When his gaze narrows it falls 
on the heaps of letters. He carries them carefully 
into WALTER Kent's room, and arranges them as 
carefully on his table. On his way out he stops for 
a moment; then with a sudden movement hangs the 
door. 

Two hours later the room has been put in order. It 
is even more full of light and the shadows are hard- 
er than usual. The doors are open, showing you 
Kent's door still closed. At the big writing table, in 
trebell's chair, sits wedgecroft, pale and grave, in- 
tent on finishing a letter. Frances comes to find him. 
For a moment she leans on the fable silently, her 
eyes half closed. You would say a broken woman. 
When she speaks, it is swiftly, but tonelessly, 
FRANCES. Lord Horsham is in the drawing room . . 

and I can't see him, I really can't. He has come to say he 

is sorry . . and I should tell him that it is his fault, partly. 

I know I should . . and I don't want to. Won't you go 

in? What are you writing? 

WEDGECROFT^ With Ms physicianly pre-occupation, 
can attend, understand, sympathise, without looking 
up at her. 
WEDGECROFT. Never mind. A necessary note . . to the 

Coroner's office. Yes, I'll see Horsham. 
FRANCES. I've managed to get the pistol out of his 

hand. Was that wrong . . oughtn't I to have touched it? 



128 WASTE [act iv 

WEDGECROFT. Of coursc you oughtn't. You must stay 
away from the room. Fd better have locked the door. 

FRANCES. [Pitifully.'] I'm sorry . . but I couldn't bear 
to see the pistol in his hand. I won't go back. After all, 
he's not there in the room, is he? But how long do you 
think the spirit stays near the body . . how long ? When 
people die gently, of age or weakness . . . But when the 
spirit and body are so strong and knit together and all 
alive as his . . . 

WEDGECROFT. [His hand on hers.] Hush . . hush ! 

FRANCES. His face is very eager . . as if it still could 
speak. I know that. 

MRS. FARRANT comes through the open doorway. 
FRANCES hears her steps, and, turning, falls into her 
outstretched arms, to cry there. 

FRANCES. Oh, Julia ! 

MRS. FARRANT, Oh, my dear Fanny ! I came with Cyril 
Horsham . . I don't think Simpson even saw me. 

FRANCES. I can't go in and talk to him. 

MRS. FARRANT. He'll Understand. But I heard you 
come in here . . 

WEDGECROFT. I'll tell Horsham. 

He has finished and addressed his letter, so he goes 
out with it. FRANCES lifts her head. These two are 
in accord, and can speak their feelings without dis- 
guise or preparation. 

FRANCES. Julia, Julia . . isn't it unbelievable? 

MRS. FARRANT. I'd givc . . oh, what wouldn't I give to 
have it undone ! 

FRANCES. I knew he meant to . . and yet I thought I 
had his promise. If he really meant to . . I couldn't 
have stopped it, could I? 

MRS. FARRANT. Walter sent to tell me, and I sent round 
to . . . 

FRANCES. Walter came soon after, I think. Julia, I was 



ACT iv] WASTE 129 

in my room . . it was nearly breakfast time . . when I 
heard the shot. Oh . . don't you think it was cruel of him ? 

MRS. FARRANT. He had a right to. We must remember 
that. 

FRANCES. You say that easily of my brother . . you 
wouldn't say it of your husband. 

They are^apart by this, julia farrant goes to her 
gently. 

MRS. FARRANT. Fanny . . will it leave you so very 
lonely ? 

FRANCES. Yes . . lonelier than you can ever be. You 
have children. I'm just beginning to realise . . . 

iviRS. FARRANT. [Leading her from the mere selfishness 
of sorrow-l There's loneliness of the spirit, too. 

FRANCES. Ah, but once you've tasted the common joys 
of life . . once you've proved all your rights as a man or 
woman . . . 

MRS. FARRANT. Then there are subtler things to miss. 
As well be alone like you, or dead like him, without them 
. . I sometimes think. 

FRANCES. [Responsive, lifted from egoism, reading her 
friend's mind.'] You demand much. 

MRS. FARRANT. I wish that he had demanded much of 
any woman. 

FRANCES. You know how this misery began? That 
poor little wretch . . she's lying dead, too. They're both 
dead together now. Do you think they've met . . ? 

JULIA grips both her hands, and speaks very stead- 
ily, to help her friend back to self control. 

MRS. FARRANT. George told me as soon as he was told. 
I tried to make him understand my opinion, but he thought 
I was only shocked. 

FRANCES. I was sorry for her. Now I can't forgive 
her, either. 



130 WASTE [act iv 

MRS. FARRANT. ^Angry, remorseful, rebellious.'] When 
will men learn to know one woman from another? 

FRANCES. [With answering bitterness.'] When will all 
women care to be one thing rather than the other? 

They are stopped by the sound of the opening of 
Kent's door, walter comes from his room, some 
papers from his table held listlessly in one hand. He 
is crying, undisguisedly, with a child's grief. 
KENT. Oh . . am I in your way . . ? 
FRANCES. I didn't know you were still here, Walter. 
KENT. I've been going through the letters, as usual. I 
don't know why, I'm sure. They won't have to be an- 
swered now . . will they? 

WEDGECROFT comcs back, grave and tense. 
WEDGECROFT. Horsham has gone. He thought perhaps 
you'd be staying with Miss Trebell for a bit. 
MRS. FARRANT. Yes, I shall be. 
WEDGECROFT. I must go, too . . it's nearly eleven. 
FRANCES. To the other inquest? 

This stirs her two listeners to something of a shud- 
der, 

WEDGECROFT. YcS. 

MRS. FARRANT. [In G low voice.] It will make no dif- 
ference now . . I mean . . still nothing need come out? 
We needn't know why he . . why he did it. 

WEDGECROFT. When he talked to me last night, and I 
didn't know what he was talking of . . . 

FRANCES. He was waiting this morning for Lord Hor- 
sham's note . . . 

MRS. FARRANT. [In real alarm.] Oh, it wasn't because 
of the Cabinet trouble . . you must persuade Cyril Hor- 
sham of that. You haven't told him . . he's so dreadfully 
upset as it is. I've been swearing it had nothing to do 
with that. 

WEDGECROFT. [Cutting her short j bitingly.'\ Has a time 



ACT iv] WASTE 131 

ever come to you when it was easier to die than to go on 
living? Oh . . I told Lord Horsham just what I thought. 
He leaves them, his own grief unexpressed. 
FRANCES. \_Listlessly.'\ Does it matter why? 
MRS. FARRANT. Need there be more suffering and re- 
proaches? It's not as if even grief would do any good. 
[Suddenly, with nervous caution.'] Walter, you don't 
know, do you? 

WALTER throws Up his tear-marked face, and a man's 

anger banishes the boyish grief. 

WALTER. No, I don't know why he did it . . and I don't 

care. And grief is no use. I'm angry . . just angry at 

the waste of a good man. Look at the work undone . , 

think of it ! Who is to do it ! Oh . . the waste . . ! 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 



135 



-tWaste" zvas produced by the Stage Society at the 
Imperial Theatre, Westminster, on the evening of Novem- 
ber 24th, 1901. 



Lady Davenport 

Walter Kent 

Mrs. Farrant 

Miss Trebell 

Mrs. O'Connell 

Lucy Davenport 

George Farrant 

Russell Blackborough 

A Footman 

Henry Trebell 

Simpson 

Gilbert Wedgecroft 

Lord Charles Cantelupe 

The Earl of Horsham 

Edmunds 

Justin O'Connell 



Miss Amy Coleman 

Vernon Steel 

Miss Beryl Faber 

Miss Henrietta Watson 

Miss Aimee De Burgh 

Miss Dorothy Thomas 

Frederick Lloyd 

A. Holmes-Gore 

Allan Wade 

Granville Barker 

Miss Mary Barton 

Berte Thomas 

Dennis Eadie 

Henry Vibart 

Trevor Lowe 

/. Fisher White 



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